


try to avoid stabbing me on our next encounter, Dean

by DrJackAndMissJo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angels, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Parent John Winchester, Castiel Is a sass master, Castiel and Dean Winchester First Meet, Castiel is clueless about human customs, Danger, Dean Winchester Has Internalized Homophobia, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Demons, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester sucks, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Pop culture references pre2005, Pre-Canon, Supernatural Beings, Supportive Castiel, dean is a nerd, slightly on crack, trigger warning, tw anxiety, tw panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24663841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrJackAndMissJo/pseuds/DrJackAndMissJo
Summary: The year is 2004, somewhere in the Midwest, where everything of all unusual sorts seems to happen.Dean Winchester is set on a solo hunt that doesn't look like the regular monster job he's used to, but he's sure he can manage.Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, is coincidentally in that same small town, on a mission from Heaven itself, of the utmost importance.Seems easy enough, right?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 48
Kudos: 112





	1. Dean

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual, I don't own shit  
> Let me know if you liked this!

_‘At this point, I don’t know what else could possibly go wrong,'_ he thought to himself.

He had been on this case for more than two weeks and still couldn’t find a pattern. The ghost, if it could be called a ghost, was messy, moved from place to place, with no bones to be cremated or cursed object or anything. It reacted to salt and iron all right, although it didn’t disappear completely after being shot. It actually didn't disappear at all, bleed humanly in black goo and left the smell of rotten eggs everywhere it went. All weird crap, but in that job nothing was to be considered out of the ordinary.

With his father MIA on another hunt and with his brother out of business, he was utterly alone. He was tempted to even call Bobby, but that might’ve crossed one of the lines his father had drawn with the other hunter.

 _‘How can this shitty plan backfire?’_ he asked himself while looking at the papers and maps in front of him. It was a suicide mission, especially if done alone, but he had no other choice. This creature had been killing left and right, breaking every possible trail and pattern it might have used. Once was a Mexican girl of 19, then an African American man of 66, a suburban soccer mom who drove a minivan. Nothing clicked, nothing made sense. The only thing they had in common was the weirdest markings left on the floor, next to where their corpses were found. They were scorched on the ground, shaped so that they resembled feathers on wings. No book or old papyrus had any input on what that might mean. And, since he could call no one, he did what he did best: planned a battle and prayed to whoever might’ve listened that he wasn’t going to die that day.

"The hell with this!" he said out loud before exiting his motel room. One minute more and the walls would’ve eaten him alive, or he would’ve lost all his courage. He marched over to the car, a beautiful piece of machinery. For his 16th birthday, his father had gifted it to him, making up for 12 years of missed birthday and Christmas presents. His Baby was everything to him, second only to his father and brother. He cherished it like it was his own child, even more. She was an extension of his soul, a part of his body. He trusted her with his life, never betrayed him once. He felt way more comfortable cramped up in the driver seat than in any spacious room.

 _‘Easy job, Winchester. You go in, you kill this thing, pray you don’t die in the_ _meantime and get out,'_ he thought. Days and days of research led him to a possible lead. Apparently this thing needed shelter, food, sleep. It preferred alcohol and easy flirts and appeared as a very rude white guy, but when it attacked, it moved like a ghost, appeared out of thin air, as witnesses claimed. Another oddity. Ghosts don’t usually leave witnesses. No monster actually does. Which meant it was something new or extremely old. Probably the latter. With no backup and no backup plan, he arrived at the place he had looked so hard for. He had done such an in-depth work, looked for every possible possibility and watched out for anything that might’ve gone wrong; he thought, for a second, that his father could’ve been proud of him.

His first big gig alone, completely alone. And it was pretty big. He just wanted to hear those words, once in his life before it was too late. And, in their line of work, any day could've been too late. He hoped that maybe, since he had worked so hard, that might’ve been the time.

He just had to come out of there alive.

One thing he knew for sure: he was not going down without a fight.

***

“ _This is John Winchester. I can’t be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean, 866-907-3235. He can help.”_

“Dad, it’s me. I’m closing the phone. Going in. Big gig. See you soon," he said. He might've added something more, but he would've definitely choked on his own words and then his father would've torn him a new one for sure.

He wasn’t feeling hopeful in the beginning and he sure felt less than alright with the plan when he arrived. The more he looked into it, the more flaws he found. He reviewed it once again in his head, counted the emergency exits and the total number of bullets he had on himself. He desperately wanted to send a message to his brother, just to hear his voice in case it was the last time possible, but decided otherwise as soon as he heard his voicemail. Sammy had found his way out and he was proud of him, of what he was accomplishing all alone at Stanford. Sammy knew that and that was all that mattered.

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, he got out of his Baby. Nonchalantly, he moved towards the house. _'Confidence is key, Winchester.'_

It was bugging him incredibly, the lack of stability of this thing: behaved like a ghost and a human, without showing signs of possession. The audacity this creature had! One thing is a ghost on a killing spree for the sole purpose of killing, but even those had a pattern, a modus operandi, a weapon of choice or even some telltales signs.

Here? Nothing. More than the murders, that was what truly disturbed him.

 _‘Curtain’s rolling, Winchester. Let’s go in and kick some ass!_ ’ his mind screamed at him. One last breath in. Game on.

***

The house was empty. No EMF nor any cold spots, which he wasn’t truly surprised of. Empty bottles of various liquors and dirty containers of different fast foods laid around the kitchen and the living room. The air was poisoned by the rather pungent smell of really gone bad eggs, like eggs whose shells had been broken months earlier and the contents were left on a dirty plate to sunbath. In other words? It smelled really bad. Some vamps' nests were cleaner and smelled better. There were residues of a fine yellow dust as well, around the rooms and the doors and the windows. The smell seemed to intensify terribly around those, maybe even more than in the rest of the house. He would’ve done some research afterwards, after leaving that disgusting place and, most importantly, after having killed the thing.

The silence was unnerving: not even a single creak of the wood of the stairs or any presence that there was someone home. That until...

The sound of broken glass came from upstairs. Followed by the usual tell-tales noises of fighting. Gun in hand and a backup plan in mind in case everything went sideways, he rushed towards the noises up the stairs, ready to fire and fight.

Adrenaline had taken hold of his body, the instinct of kicking-ass kicking in.

The sight was quite singular and familiar all in one: broken pieces of furniture and glass scattered on the floor, typical; a strange cylindrical-ish shaped knife that seemed both practical and impractical at the same time, unorthodox but rather common; the body of the thing he had tracked down there with several superficial wounds that were not bleeding, although they seemed rather deep. Definitely weird and freaky.

He moved towards it, to check if it was alive or had bitten the dust, and to test it for silver or fangs or literally anything that came into his mind. Nothing tested positive. Not that he was foolish enough to believe it would.

He looked around the room for evidence, insights. Just anything that might explain what the hell was going on, really.

As predicted, besides the fresh body and the clear mess, nothing was to be found, except more of that yellow powder and awful smell. He was certain it meant something, but he just couldn’t remember what.

“What are you doing here?” a voice from behind him asked. He immediately turned around and fired three of the six bullets he had in the magazine, but they hit the door instead of crashing into a body. Whatever it was had disappeared out of thin air. Again, the first thing that popped into his mind were ghosts, but they never spoke whenever they appeared, at least to his knowledge, the room certainly hasn't dropped 30 degrees, and the voice was way too clear to belong to a spectre.

Just when he had begun to think he had just imagined it all, something materialised a few feet away from him. It was a man, around his own age, with deep blue eyes and unruly jet black hair.

“I would gladly ask you to stop using that futile weapon against me," said the man in the possibly deepest voice ever. The other three bullets flew out of his gun before he could even think about shooting, thanks to his _'shoot first, question later’_ training that had kicked in while his brain had decided to take a short cut at the stranger's voice, but those only hit the wall after the creature had vanished once more.

“Would you please stop firing against me?” asked again the man, this time standing rather closely into his personal space, sounding mildly irritated.

The only thing he could now do was remove his silver knife from his belt and stab the man in the chest with it. The stranger was a few inches shorter than him and the knife cut into his clothes and chest like it was butter. It drove easily and quickly and through his heart. If that thing had a heart.

“Well, this is an inconvenience," said the man with a slightly displeased look on his face while he effortlessly removed the knife from his own body, leaving behind a thin tearing on his shirt. There was no trace of the newly formed wound, nor of the usual flood of blood that rushes out of stab wounds directly to the chest. The man, although really couldn't even have been called a man, was simply standing there, looking down at the knife that was as clean as new with a look Dean couldn't decipher.

“Who or what the hell are you?” he asked the stranger, who slowly looked up from his hands. His eyes were even bluer up close, Dean thought.

The stranger simply tilted his head to the side, probably in confusion, and to Dean that was possibly one of the cutest scenes he had ever seen.

 _‘Focus Winchester. Keep thinking straight!’_ his mind screamed at him.

“My name is Castiel and I am an Angel of the Lord,” He said in a manner of fact voice, the roughness of the sound stopping Dean's brain from working properly. ' _Stop it, Winchester. Behave as if Dad were here and start understanding what the actual fuck is happening_ ,' his mind fired back once more.

“Right, cause those are a thing, aren’t they?” Dean asked sarcastically, moving a few steps back. “Aren’t you, like, supposed to have chubby cheeks and puffy wings and blinding halos? Cause all I see is a 30 something dude dressed like an accountant. Not exactly angelic material.”

“This is Jimmy Novak. He accepted to be my vessel for this mission and he, indeed, is 31 years old and those are his work clothes. And I believe he would disapprove of you slicing his shirt."

“So, what? You’re wearing him while he wears a trench coat?”

Again that head tilt. Dean’s brain was short-cut, again. _‘Damn it,_ _Winchester. There’s an angel in front of you and you’re both believing this son of a bitch and not killing him. That’s bad.’_

“I suppose by your level of sarcasm that you are a hunter. By your weaponry as well," the angel said while slowly twisting the blade between his hands. The only thing Dean could do was weakly nod. He didn’t know why he was feeling like that, but it surely didn’t feel pleasant. It was almost as someone had punched him in the stomach and left him on the ground while his head spun. Completely unpleasant. He was also incredibly nervous by the careless way the angel was toying with his knife.

“I am. You know, ghost hunting, monster-killing guy. That’s my job," he said with a refined cockiness he didn’t know he had in himself.

“I believe it would be best if we left this place, since she will not come back," said the angel out of the blue.

It was Dean’s turn to be confused and puzzled now, even without the little head tilt. There was a body next to them. That usually meant that the job was done. They just had to salt 'n' burn it. Right?

"There’s a body over there. Doesn’t that mean that the deed is done and that son of a bitch’s gone for good?”

“No." It seemed like it pained him to admit failure and Dean could understand the feeling all too well. The angel probably had orders to follow as well and someone not to disappoint. "My assignment is slightly far from done. Now hold still so I can erase your memories," he said while slowly raising his hand.

Dean immediately sprinted to the other side of the room: “You keep your filthy paws off of my silky mind. Imma keep my memories, thank you very much. Besides, you might need my help!"

The angel looked at him as if he had spontaneously sprung a second had out of his shoulder. "I do not understand if you are using sarcasm or if you are indeed serious."

"Excuse me?! I've been on this case for over two weeks. I know most of what's there to know about this. Maybe we can collaborate and get that son of a bitch dead."

"Having spent a fortnight on circumstantial evidence means nothing. Do you even know what you're ' _hunting_ _’?”_ he spoke the last verb in a rather mocking tone. Dean immediately felt like sucker-punching him in the face.

"Something that I'll kill," he claimed with fake confidence. He had an abundance of that, after all.

"I believe the correct answer would be: something that will kill _you._ It is a demon, just to inform you. Did your two weeks of futile research tell you that?"

Demon. Right. Cause apparently those were a thing as well. If there were angels there must've been also demons, obviously.

_'Be cool, Winchester. This is just another Thursday, regular everyday thing, supernormal monster-fighting routine.'_

The angel moved closer to him, concern written all over his features. "Are you alright, Hunter?"

"First, my name's Dean. Second, my entire existence just got turned upside down and not in the _Fresh Prince_ style, so gimme a moment to get it."

He clearly wasn't panicking, thank you very much. He began to make a list of all the monsters he knew of and to compare it to the research he had done so far on the case. It made sense that the murderer was not your ordinary thing.

The angel nodded slowly, before loudly sighing and exclaiming: “I can take you back to your accommodation, if that would make you feel better. Or I could simply remove the memories of this conversation in order for you to return to your regular world, which would be more preferable from my point of view."

That zapped Dean out of his momentarily funk. "Hell no, hot wings. Besides, I think I'll be able to help you to track that thing down and kill it."

"I suppose it is futile trying to convince you otherwise. You hunters are notorious for your stubbornness. Fine. But not in this house. I have already wasted too much time in here.”

He wondered about it for a couple of moments, his gaze moving from the dead body to the angel to the dead body again.

“I have a motel room. That’s where I’m staying. I suppose you probably live somewhere fancier, don’t you?” he asked the angel.

“This would be unpleasant for you," was his only reply as he put his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

One second, the hunter was about to start blushing at the entire situation, trying to think of a joke to ease the tension he could feel building up inside of his body, and the next he was ready to throw his whole soul out as the room around him slightly spun and quickly disappeared. They were at the monster’s hideout and then they weren’t. Some kind of angelic mojo had warp speed them in front of his motel room. Granted, it was the only one in that small town, but he never said the number of the room out loud, which made him think angels could actually read minds.

“More like listen to thoughts. We usually listen to human prayers. You cannot read a mind unless one’s stream of consciousness has been written down. That is the whole concept of reading, after all.”

The hunter was too focused on not throwing up the content of his stomach on his door, nor anywhere truly, to completely understand that the angel had somehow made a joke.

After a few moments of silently standing on the doorstep, Dean with his arm holding him up against the door itself and the angel a few inches away, looking puzzled at him, the silence was broken. “I thought it was polite to appear outside the room, instead of directly inside."

“Wait, what?” replied a more than a confused hunter, looking back at his new unusual companion.

“I could have easily made us both appear directly inside the room, but instead...” the angel couldn’t finish the sentence. He had been cut off by a maniacal scream that had exited the hunter’s throat. “WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU LEAVE MY BABY?” asked a panicked Dean Winchester to the celestial being.

“You took an infant with you?” fired back a somehow equally distressed angel.

“Listen, Castor," Dean was aware that that wasn't his name, but sounded rather similar and he was way too preoccupied to care, "I literally have no fucks to give right now about you or the hunt. Where the fuck did you leave my car?”

"My name is Castiel, not Castor. And I would appreciate if you did not call me that. As you might not be aware, the name comes from a different mythology. And I have no idea of what you are talking about," he replied calmly, in a very stoic matter.

“Bullshit!” yelled Dean, “You don’t get it, she ...” The hunter tried to finish the sentence, but no sound came out of his mouth. He opened it and closed it a few times, before settling down to just violently glare at the man in front of him. “You will get your ability to speak back when you learn not to use such foul language. Now, I presume you are not talking about a human infant, do I stand correct?”

Dean could only nod yes. He tried to counteract, but his lips were literally sealed with some kind of weird angelic magic.

"Is this 'Baby' an inanimate object?"

 _"She has a soul, you crazy psycho!"_ his mind screamed, but he simply nodded along, swallowing his bruising pride.

“Is this the meaning with which you arrived at the house?”

Again, a simple nod yes.

“I will take you back there, then, so you can retrieve your... vehicle.”

Suddenly his voice started to work again and he took full advantage of it to scream at the angel and try to escape him. “No, don’t you fucking dare..!”, he couldn’t even finish the sentence that he was again being zapped away, nausea hitting him twice as hard.

“Jesus! You really gotta stop doing that, man!” he cried out while clutching a hand to his heart. It was pounding so hard it might've jumped out of his body to explode right there on the sidewalk.

“I already told you my name is Castiel," said the angel, tilting his head once more.

 _‘Does he do it every time he doesn’t understand something? Cause it’s really cute and distracting and fucking hell FOCUS WINCHESTER!’_ his mind shot at him.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Do you mind stop zapping me everywhere?" he asked a few moments later, after having regained his breath and having stopped his mind from spinning.

"That ' _zapping_ ', as you kindly called it, is the way we move from place to place. I warned you it would not be pleasant to your human body. I believe it caused you a migraine and several other unpleasantness."

"You don't say!" sarcastically snapped back the hunter. "From now on, we're either driving around in my car or we're walking. No more of that freaky mojo shit."

"Why? Walking is a waste of time and I have no idea of what ' _driving_ ' is." The angel's eyes were slightly getting darker and for a second Dean wondered if the actual sky was stirred in them.

But that was a thought for later. Right at the moment, he had to cross the street because of course, the perfect and attractive stranger had shipped them to the wrong side of the road.

"Get in the car, wings. Imma show you what driving is," he said while opening his own car door. He had to stop and admire the scene in front of him before getting in, though: the angel was simply standing there, looking pretty and puzzled at the passenger's door, as if waiting for it to open itself or something. The sight was hilarious and lovely and Dean wanted to laugh at it so badly, but decided against it, considering he'd be humouring an immortal all-powerful being who was slightly a lot scary.

"You gotta pull the handle and manually open the door. Then you get in and sit," he said with a newly found fondness in his voice that rarely appeared during casual conversations, especially not with strangers. He hadn't used that find in while, couple of years at least.

He waited to see how the angel would've worked around the instructions, enjoying the sight. When he was fully seated inside the Impala, Dean jumped in, the action as easy as breathing.

This, being behind the wheel of the Impala, he could handle. Step by step he might've also been able to grasp the full picture in front of him, but for now, he was content just being there.

"Now, Cassiel. Buckle up, I don't want any cops to stop me cause you're not wearing your belt."

The angel just stared at him, confusion filling his eyes. He then looked down at his pants, checking the belt that kept them up. "I believe my belt is properly tied."

The hunter couldn't help but laugh now. It wasn't a small chuckle, but a full-on, body shaking, tear-jerking laugh.

The atmosphere that earlier was rough and tense, now seemed lighter.

Wiping the tears out of his eyes, he recomposed himself. _"Calm down, Winchester. If dad was here he'd probably kill you,"_ his mind said. But his father was not there and was no harm in becoming friends ( ~~and possibly more~~ ) with a celestial being.

"I meant the _seatbelt_. The piece of plastic-ish fabric with other plastic stuff that is attached to your right, on the lateral doorframe. You gotta wrap it around your body and click it in the clickety thing."

"What a perfect explanation. Tell me, Deanna, did you study the English language in-depth?" asked the angel with a small smile on his lips.

At that, Dean turned towards the angel so quickly and violently, he had to thank the seatbelt he had just latched on to prevent him from crashing onto the angel's body. Not that he would've particularly minded. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"I asked you if you studied the English language excessively, but I assume from your constant use off cursing that you prefer a more direct approach." Amusement sparked in those blue pools as anger coursed through his own veins.

"You know what I'm talking about, Cassiel."

"Are you talking to me? Because my name happens to have a ' _t_ ' after the only ' _s'._ Now, I would excuse your awful pronunciation if you had a lisp. But since I could not detect any upon our encounter..."

Did the hot angel just make a somehow funny and rather sarcastic joke? Dean couldn't believe it.

"Fine! But your name's a mouthful. Is Cas okay? Tiel doesn't sound that nice but we could make it work. Or maybe Cassie?" he finished the sentence with a wink. Although the thought of that name brought a rather bad set of memories, he wouldn't have minded calling him that. Or anything. He wouldn't have minded keeping talking to him, period.

But the glare that Castiel gave him was enough to burn holes into the Sun. "Cas is adequate, I suppose, although it does take part of my name away,' he conceded eventually.

They remained in silence for a couple of seconds, the angel staring outside the front window and Dean staring at the angel. _'He ha_ _s really long lashes,'_ he thought suddenly.

The angel turned around at him, a questioning frown on his face, "I have never been inside of an automobile before, but I thought they moved faster than this."

"I'm still waiting for you to buckle up, cowboy."

Only then he seemed to realize his mistake. After a brief ' _Apologies'_ , he began to fumble account the plastic stripe. It seemed like he had somehow gotten the hang of it when he managed to unfold it.

 _"Now one more step to go,"_ Dean thought.

Castiel began to mumble a series of incomprehensible sounds. They sounded rather ancient and powerful ~~and arousing.~~

"It would be much easier for us to simply fly there with my powers. Are you aware of it?"

"Oh, no way in hell, hot wings! Unless you want me to hurl my stomach everywhere we go, that's a hard pass."

"You could simply not follow me. I am confident I will succeed in my mission even without your assistance. "

"Do you to know that this thing only buys alcohol from a specific store in town that is probably owned by a witch? And do you know how to track it down? Admit it, Cas, it will be easier with my help. That's why you asked!"

"You volunteered, Dean."

"I don't see any Vaguely Flaming Devices around here." 

"Pardon me?"

Again with the head tilt. "Nothing. Don't worry about it. Now, wanna head back to the motel so I can show you my perfect and accurate and awesome research?" He said while emphatically wiggling his brows.

"Since you are conducting the vehicle, I would claim that it would be appropriate to leave you to choose the destination."

"Do you ever speak like you eat?" asked an amused hunter.

"I do not eat, Dean."

"That explains a lot."

 _"This is gonna be interesting_ " Dean thought to himself, hoping that the angel hadn't put on his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if you spot a reference slightly adjusted to Grease and if you spot a certain quote ;)


	2. Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this is a shorter chapter, promise they get longer!

_"Have you complied with your mission, soldier?"_

_"_ No, madam. The target vacated the premises seconds before I could terminate her. Wards around the town have taken place in her inability to leave."

 _"Do not enjoy your mediocrity, soldier. Complete the mission and report immediately back to Heaven. The target must be removed definitely. Do not_ _concern yourself with the vessel she chose to penetrate."_

"Yes, madam."

***

They still had yet to reach their destination. Based on his calculation, the accommodation the hunter had chosen to stay in, due to its cheap expenses, was not incredibly far from the location of the demon's. Of course, flying them there was the most logical choice, but, due to the hunter's lack of compliance, that option seemed to evaporate.

They managed to stay in silence for a couple of minutes, before the hunter spoke.

"Tell me more about the whole shebang. If I'm going there guns blazing, I gotta know what to expect."

"I am impressed. I did not expect this sort of Spanish Inquisition from you, hunter."

_"NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION_ _!”_

He looked at his unusual companion, wondering what might have moved him to scream that sentence.

"Relax Cas, I'm just joking," he said while chuckling, never taking his eyes from the road in front of them.

The entire situation felt rather ridiculous: he was a celestial being, a soldier of Heaven that was born on the second day, and was now tied by a strange bundle of fabric to a chemically moved, mechanically engined vehicle, next to a noisy and sarcastic hunter. He prayed his brothers and sisters were not watching, otherwise, he would have never ' _lived it down',_ as Balthazar would have said.

He had to admit, though, that the hunter was also a good man and seemed at least discrete at his job. He had managed to track down the demon all by himself with relatively small knowledge and had also reacted fairly well at the new information that was delivered upon him. Based on previous knowledge, humans tended to ignore the supernatural, but even those who embraced it were shocked and surprised at the prospect of demons, when facing them for the first time.

 _"Maybe this might not be terrible_ _."_ Sighing, he began to imitate the hunter's stance and gazed outside off the window next to him. "What would you like to know?" he asked.

"Are you kidding me?! I wanna know everything!"

"Would you mind narrowing the topics down?"

"Fine, work first. Tell me about this demon we're hunting." He managed to stay focused on the tasks at hand, both the driving of his vehicle and the problem they now shared, rather easily, as if it was something he was used on doing. "Is it not human binding law not to disturb anyone while conducting a vehicle?"

"More of a suggestion, really," he fired back, a grin appearing on his lips as he spoke, "Relax, Cas, I'm a great driver."

Castiel was puzzled and confused, "I fail to see the correlation between safety measures and your own abilities."

"That's 'cause you've never been in a car before, right?"

"Indeed."

The hunter gave him another lazy smile, moving the gear stick to accommodate a different velocity, and simply said: "Then just chill and tell me all I need to know about this demon, will ya?"

He complied, deciding not to waste more time with pointless questions. "She is a minor demon, lower-ranking than most. Probably a pawn in someone else's plan...".

Castiel could not finish the sentence due to an interruption, "Hold up, we're going up against a _chick_?!"

He was confused by the hunter's words, something he was getting accustomed to: Humans were truly a bizarre species. "No, she is a force of evil that possesses human bodies without their consent, not the offspring of a chicken."

The hunter began laughing, as if his sentence was somehow amusing.

"I meant chick as in a girl, Cas!"

"Considering she is probably more than 300 years old and considering that female might have not been her gender when she was alive, I do not believe the term ' _girl'_ is appropriate in this case. But, giving the situation, I will approve of your approximation."

"You keep calling her a _she!"_

"I happen to know that those are her preferred pronouns. Demons, and Angels as well, do not properly have a gender. We are, by definition, fluid beings. I myself have been granted permission to use many vessels throughout my life, not only male ones but also females and, on several occasions, neither or both."

"Whatever," said the hunter, his cheeks beginning to gain some colour above the unkempt stubble.

A tense silence fell between them, until it was broken by the hunter himself, "Dude! Keep the info coming. I gotta know more!"

_"I spoke too soon. This is clearly pointless, I should simply erase his memory and finish the mission."_

But, instead, he merely continued his explanation.

"As I was saying, she has targeted three retired angels that lived in this town. She managed to kill them while using the surprise she had on them and a stolen angelic blade. She lost it in the fight that occurred between us in the house, before leaving the vessel."

"So, she has no weapon and no body." He nodded once, and somehow the hunter managed to see it, even without taking the eyes off the road ahead. "And how do we know that she hasn't skipped town and ridden off to the sunset?"

"I put wards around the entire perimeter, this way she will not be able to leave. She also has to look for a new vessel to inhabit in order to not remain in a gaseous, semi-solid form."

"What you're saying is that when she's not in a bodysuit she is some sort of mist?"

"Black to be exact. I suppose we could track her down thanks to your research. Demons are not exactly an intelligent species and they are creatures of habit."

"Woah! You guys really hate each other, dontcha?"

"Does a lion hate an ant?" asked back Castiel in a rather defensive tone. He did not mean to reply in such a haste and in such a cold way, but that answer was deeply rooted inside of him and managed to escape his lips without him completely realising.

"I suppose not, but a shitton of ants can take down a lion. Is this what it's all about? Roles being reversed?"

Castiel did not have an explanation nor an answer. "That is not the topic of a discussion I am too be having with you, hunter."

"Geez, who knew you could be so touchy! Whatever, forget I said anything."

He was not truly satisfied with the direction their conversation had taken, but decided to remain silent as the hunter also did not make an effort to speak.

Castiel simply stared ahead of him, wondering if he had made a mistake.

*******

The vehicle was abruptly stopped inside the parking area the motel had for its residents. The hunter had parked and was now staring at him, his light green eyes almost burning holes in his head.

"No funny business when we go in. It's a little bit messy, but don't you dare touch my stuff. Everything is in its place and if you move something I won't find it. Capish?"

"Are you trying to use the Italian ' _Capisci'_ but failing on the pronunciation of the last syllable?"

"WHAT? No, I know what I said and I never fail in anything!" said the hunter, looking taken aback.

He shook his head with a small tug on his lips, before continuing, a grave tone in his voice: "Listen Cas. This is a quiet small town in the Midwest. People aren't exactly fond of new and change."

Castiel could not comprehend what the hunter was saying. "I assure you, I am not going to reveal myself to the townsfolk nor am I going to do anything to any of you humans."

"I was not talking about that," he said, his eyes clouding. "You have chosen a male bodysuit."

That was not a question, but the angel nodded along with it in reply regardless.

"These people, they might react badly to seeing you as a guy staying in my room with only one queen-sized bed. A lot of them are old fashioned, including the man that runs the motel, so when we go in we say that you and I work together and Imma get you a separate room. So you can stay there. You know, to keep the pretences up."

He did not understand what the hunter was talking about, but judging by the seriousness of his speech and the gravity in his tone, he decided not to push the situation. They had lost already too much time and he was supposed to finish his mission quickly.

After all, it was only a lowly demon and he was a Soldier of Heaven.

"You do not need to do anything, Dean. I can simply appear directly inside of the room and disappear without having anyone see me, if that is what concerns you."

The rough features on the hunter's face softened. He merely nodded once, before quickly telling him the number of a room he already knew. He flew there without warning.

***

_"Have you found her?"_

"She has not taken physical form yet. I cannot locate her unless she does."

Truth to be told, he still had not looked for her, too preoccupied with the hunter. But his superiors did not need to know that.

" _If you need assistance, Heaven will send you back up, Castiel."_

 _"_ No, madam. I am able to complete the mission without dispersion of our forces in the town."

_"Be quick, soldier. I will not tolerate having to mourn another one of us."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if you manage to spot a certain quote! ;)


	3. Dean

_'What were you thinking, Winchester? He's a fucking angel. There's no way in hell you can help him in any way. You'_ _ll just slow him down and get killed. You're not Dad. You don't know what the fuck is happening. You're gonna get yourself killed."_

His internal monologue was always really optimistic and trusted his abilities to the max. But his mind might've been right. He was not his father and he was still relatively young in the job, even if he was living this life since he was 4. His solo career was just starting, his father still chose where he went and what he had to hunt. That was the first job he found for himself, his chance to prove to the famous John Winchester that he was not just a scrawny kid anymore.

 _'If he was here, though, you wouldn't be able to hang out and help a freaking angel. The old man would probably try to kill him!'_. He laughed darkly at that thought. Knowing his father, the existence of demons and angels would not faze him in the slightest and he probably had something that could kill them as well.

Regarding his surroundings, he exited his Baby, leaving her perfectly parked. The panic he felt when the angel zapped them away was something he didn't want to experience ever again.

He casually walked towards his rented room, cool on the outside and freaking out on the inside. His mind was still wrapping around all that shit that Castiel had casually dumped on him. Not that he would ever admit it. He was afraid of losing even one of his memories, including the bad ones. Plus, he was curious to see how this little adventure was gonna end.

"You did an excellent job, Dean. I have to admit, I am rather impressed" called the angel in way of greeting.

He was thankful that the angel was turned towards the wall of evidence and was not looking at him, so he missed the blush that creeped on his cheeks. Only Sam had been impressed with his research, and that was when he was eight.

"Thanks" he simply said, unable to talk some more.

Castiel turned around to face him as he shrug off his leather jacket and removed his weapons. _'You have wasted six whole bullets today, without making a single ounce of damage. Way to go, Winchester.'_

"So, hot wings. How do we track down the chick?"

The angel sighed and shook his head slightly, resigning to Dean's usage of words.

"Unfortunately, it is rather hard to track down a demon that is not possessing a human," he admitted eventually.

"So, we're stuck in this limbo until that thing decides to get into a meat suit."

"That would be correct." There was a hint of shame in his voice, and Dean knew the sensation way too well.

"Then I say we don't just sit around. Let's go asking around if anyone has seen anything different and all that jazz. Can you detect the demon once she's in someone?"

Castiel nodded, "Depending on the proximity I can see their real faces."

"Wait, what?” asked a slightly confused hunter.

"Demons and angels can each other's true form, not just the Vessel that contains them and us. That is how we distinguish each other."

Curiosity won him over. His mind started to fill with questions, but he tried to stay on track on the matter at hand.

"What does a demon look like?"

Castiel seemed to think about it for a long time. Perhaps he never had to explain such basic stuff before. "Have you ever seen a rotting corpse?"

"Are you kidding me?! I'm a hunter." he said proudly, "I've seen several of those at different stages. Plus some other pretty disgusting stuff as well."

"Well, a demon usually looks like that. Albeit alive and typically with black eyes."

"What do you mean by _typically_?" he asked, now sitting on the bed and carefully listening to the angel. He wondered if he should write the new load of info down, just to have an easier access to them in the future. If he was going to get a future.

The angel sat on a chair, opposite to him. "The normal generic demon has black eyes. That is their colour and distinguishes them from the other classes, upper ones and rather more powerful. Some might have venous blood-red eyes while the other more common would be yellow. The most ancient ones have white eyes." He spoke with such a calm voice that Dean was captivated, and not only by the interesting topic that might save his life one day.

"Got it. Black eyes: maybe stay and fight if you have the higher ground. Other freaky colors, run to the opposite direction as fast as you can. Do they have any correlation to any of these demons Buffy had to kill in order to save the world in almost every season finale?" he asked smugly, pretty sure the angel wasn't going to know how to reply.

He was not wrong. Castiel did again the infamous head tilt, slightly squinting his blue eyes as if he needed glasses to see. "For your first sentence, I would suggest proceeding with caution; several black eyes demons are quite powerful. For the latter one, I am sorry to admit that I do not know of any ' _Buffy'_ nor of a specific seasonal demon, or monster per se, that was battled by this hunter, I presume?"

"She's not a hunter, but a super kick-ass slayer!"

"Well, I do not know the difference between the two, but I can assure you, no demon has been faced by a female _'slayer_ '. Usually, a prophet might speak of particular humans that managed to do so, but I have never heard or read of her."

"That's cause Joss Whedon is a visionary and not a prophet! Although he kinda fucked up _Firefly_ with its messy order. But I kinda have to forgive him, cause Nathan Fillion is... Well. Ya know."

He had to stop himself before he said something he might have regretted. He walked on dangerous territory, constantly, and he was afraid that his damn mouth would get him killed someday, possibly by someone close-minded close to him.

 _'That was close, Winchester. Hold on onto your horses, you don't know what will happen if you say more._ ' his mind agreed. He was talking to an Angel of the Lord, after all. And weren't preachers always preaching about all that stuff? Who knew what Castiel might've done to him if he knew. Perhaps cure him, as some would say. Perhaps if that was possible, it wouldn't be that bad an idea.

Fortunately for Dean, the angel seemed confused most by the words he used, rather than by their hidden meaning. "I have no idea who any of those people you just spoke about are," he said in a low tone. "But, and mine is a pure suggestion, would you like to keep on talking about the case?"

' _THE CASE! Right. We got lost in those blue pools and side-tracked abruptly.'_

"Right. Sorry. Types of demons. Which one are we trying to kill?"

"Lower black-eyed demon. Which _I_ will end, while you stay in your vehicle and go on your way unharmed" the angel said calmly but in a specific manner that meant he wouldn't have liked any opposition to his planning.

Dean, bring used to that kind of tone, imperceptibly flinched, but stood his ground, "No way Cas. I said I'd help you and you accepted my heroic help into slaying this beast!"

"Did you know that heroes are usually the first to die in human history and literature?" asked in an amused way the angel.

"I didn't. But hear me out. The must be a way for me to kill that thing, right?" stubbornly replied the hunter.

A slow nod was the only answer he received, but that was all the encouragement that he needed to keep on going, "So tell me what it is so that I can fight her!"

"It is not that easy, Dean. _I do not need a weapon to smite a demon,"_ he said, putting emphasis on his words by making the lights flicker a little as he spoke. If he didn't know better, Dean would've rushed to grab the salt from his bag. "You would most definitely need one, which I am not going to procure you and I am most certain you cannot retrieve one by yourself."

"...Although an exorcism would be the easiest method for you to separate the demon and its host" he added regretfully.

"Can we please call them ' _Eddie Brock and the parasite'_ ?" Dean asked, trying to find a less horrifying way to put the situation.

"If that would make you feel less uncomfortable, yes I suppose we could. But I am afraid I do not understand that reference."

 _'He literally knows everything except for actual knowledgeable knowledge!'_ he thought in amusement. "Don't worry about that," he said with a small smile on his lips.

But he had to be serious now: "Answer this: you're planning on finishing the demon _without_ killing the bodysuit, right?"

A puzzled look appeared on his face, wrinkles forming on his brow. "Assuming the host has not been murdered by the possession. Which is the most likely situation."

"Humour me, Cas." he deadpanned, looking straight in the angel's eyes. They clouded once more.

"I have my orders. I am supposed to follow them, not to defy them."

"Do your orders tell you to kill an innocent, Castiel?"

"I am to not concern myself with the human she chose to penetrate," he admitted ruefully.

"Geez, that wording is the most awful thing I've ever heard! So what, you'll kill both?"

"I told you, my orders..."

"BULLSHIT!" he screamed at the angel, jumping up from his sitting position and moving closer to the other man.

He was being a hypocrite at the moment and that he knew all too well. He was raised with the sole purpose of following his father's orders and protecting his little brother, after all. And he knew all too well what the consequences of disobeying were. He was only thankful that Sammy never had to be at the receiving end of his father's wrath. Not even after he left for college.

But, if being his father's little soldier had taught him something, those were loopholes.

"They told you _only_ to kill the _demon_ , which we'll do. But we'll find a way to keep that innocent person alive."

Castiel shook his head violently, "It's not that simple."

"YES, IT IS! You're supposed to be one of the good guys!". In every story, in every book, on every movie, angels were the force good, there to help and protect humans. Yet an actual freaking angel sat there in front of him, admitting that he'd kill whoever to finish his job. All of Dean's truths and beliefs fell down.

Sometimes, when a hunt was too hard or the wind was too strong during a storm, he'd curl around himself, his brother fast asleep in the other crappy model bed they had this month, and he'd whisper words he heard a long time before, from old women with thick accents once in New York when his father had sent him into a church to gather information, even though he was only seven and did not understand what he was doing. While he waited for his turn to speak with the priest and ask the two questions his father had carefully written in a piece of paper in case Dean forgot them, he sat next to one of these women, who were chanting together holding a rosemary in their hands in the same way he would've hold a knife. She was kind and gave him candy and he listened carefully and memorized the words she was uttering. After he was done with the questions, before leaving the church and getting into his father's impala, he waved her goodbye and she gave him another candy, calling him a good and nice boy.

On those rough nights, he'd remember her and he'd ask for that little extra help from above. He had done it also that day, while getting ready for the fight.

But now, being faced with the reality of it all, he was horrified.

"You are supposed to help us humans," he said bashfully.

"We are!" replied the angel, raising his voice to match Dean's former tone.

"Then act like it!"

 _'Please don't let me down.'_ he silently prayed, but then regretted it as soon as Castiel's expression changed once he heard his thought.

The hunter stepped down now, running a hand through his hair, messing them up.

Sorrow filled the air and tension settled between them, as Castiel stared at the hunter with a strange look in his eyes.

"Look, I get it." began Dean, "It's just that..."

He could not finish the sentence. His phone rang up and began vibrating his pocket and he picked it up immediately. He had been slow to answer a call once and his father was not pleased about it. He tried to not be slow, not even during hunts: a monster could wait, John Winchester simply couldn't.

Indeed, the caller was him. "Sir," he answered mechanically, sterning his tone.

_"Are you done there, son? I've got a case that you could do."_

That usually meant that whatever it was, was easy to kill, too easy for his father's expertise; something that would've only wasted his time.

He knew he couldn't lie, not to him, but he couldn't also tell him the truth.

"Turns out there is one more of those things to take down. I think I'll be done in a couple of days." he lied, maintaining his voice steady and feeling his heart pounding inside his throat.

_"So you haven't finished it yet. It's been two weeks, Dean. Do I need to come there?"_

Panic began to rise in every fibre of his body. His father coming there to find that he had not killed anything yet and was nowhere in his researches, which compared to his were rather childish. Coming there to find him with an angel in his room, casually conversing and bantering.

Coming there to find him undeniably attracted to the angel and rather fond of him already.

"No, sir. I can handle."

_"Are you sure? You haven't even told me what this 'big gig' of yours is all about."_

Not a question, but he still demanded an answer nevertheless.

"Shapeshifter." He had said the first thing that came into his mind, mentally assessing the details to make the lie more plausible.

_"Be careful, Dean. Those are tough sometimes, especially when you're inexperienced."_

He was raised to be a hunter, had seen his first monster at age five and held his first gun when he was six, yet to his father he would still be ' _inexperienced'_. Sam was the pro, the one who could hunt and maintain his grades high at the same time, not that schoolwork mattered in their lives. Dean, on the other hand, was the failure, had trouble paying attention sometimes and was overall just average in everything. Sometimes he wondered if his father would've actually preferred if it was him and not his wife to perish in the fire all those years back.

"I know sir. I'll be careful."

_"Alright then. Let me know when you're done. I'll take that case instead. See you in a couple of days."_

He hung up, not bothering to listen in case his eldest son had something more to say. Not bothering saying ' _goodbye'_ in case something went to shit on both parts. Dean was used to this behaviour all too well, yet it still hurt him from time to time.

Dean was just left there, speechless, staring at his open phone before shutting it violently. White hot spots appeared before his eyes, rage and sadness and hurt closing his vision. The room disappeared, the queen-sized bed gone from his mind and so the angel. He fell into a tunnel that didn't have end, while simply standing so completely still he might've been made of stone. A human trapped by the gorgon Medusa.

' _Crying is a sign of weakness.'_ his father always said. So cry he didn't, never, not since he was really young and stupid. Especially not in front of Sammy. They already had enough problem as it were, he didn't need a sissy chick-flick brother. His little brother used to look up at him; Dean couldn't let him down by being a pathetic and weak and whiny boy.

He was so lost inside himself that he didn't realize something had moved closer to him. Someone was gently calling him, as to calmly wake him up from a good night sleep.

He had not had such things since he was four, John too busy to wait till he was comfortably awake to start ordering things from him. Usually, it was about taking care of breakfast or of Sam. He was always taking care of something, of someone that wasn't himself.

Only his mother had ever spoken to him like that. Sometimes Bobby did as well, when they stayed at his place while his father was working away.

He wished he could've stayed more with the other hunter. He cooked them breakfast, actually taking the time to learn their favorite dishes and what they liked or not. He taught them how to play sports, how to run leisurely and not to save their own asses for once. He taught Dean how to fix cars and Sam how to bath himself without Dean's help. Took them swimming and to the movies. He treated them like the children they were, but as soon as John was done with whatever he was busy doing, everything went back to reality.

But wishfully thinking about what it would have been like to be raised by Bobby Singer was not something had the chance to dwell on. Especially not as a slightly concerned angel was pulling him out of his haze.

' _Panic Attack._ ' That was what a school counsellor had told him after he had calmed down. His father had called him as he walked to his next class, for once looking forward to the lecture. They were doing a project on Oscar Wilde and he had it already in the bag: between " _The Canterville Ghost_ " and " _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ " he was well versed in the subject; plus the hot chick he'd do the project with seemed into him, for reasons unknown to Dean, so it couldn't have been all that bad.

In a few hurried words, John Winchester told his eldest son that he was skipping town and that he would probably be back in a month. He was leaving behind what he thought was enough money for the time being, but Dean knew best. _'Good thing I've asked the mechanic here in town if he needed help'_ he thought dryly, listening to the distant voice of his father. A few more instructions and commands later, and the other line went dead abruptly, without a goodbye for the first time ever. "Dad?" he had asked into the phone, checking if it had turned off on its own. He tried calling back, but the line was busy and nothing picked up.

One moment he was leaning against a wall, waiting for the bell to ring, to tell him to get into the classroom, and the next he was on the ground, his vision black and his breaths rushing out of him. There were voices all around him, he was aware of that, yet he couldn't do anything. His mind was spiralling down, fear crept on him, and all of the possible scenarios of why his father had hung up on him abruptly took a dark turn.

He woke up two hours later, bolting up from the infirmary's bed and checking for physical injuries. There were none, but he left the school that day with a couple of techniques that might help him if something like that was ever to happen again. He still used them, counting his breaths whenever he could feel the terror rising, blinking rapidly to make sure he was seeing properly. A lot of them were really useful on their job and he had even taught Sammy some, in case he ever needed to focus, but his little brother wasn't like him and never had those sorts of problems.

Dean began counting loudly to ten, then twenty, and stopped at twenty-eight, as his breathing resumed normally and his heart slowed down a little. He was immediately conscious of the hand gripping his shoulder and of the worried face in front of him.

"I cannot sense the cause of your distress," Castiel said, speaking in a soft voice as if he was a startled animal. ' _I suppose to him I am one'_ he thought bitterly, sitting on the bed and putting his head between his hands. He focused on his breathing for longer than he was used to when he wasn't alone. He didn't know why, but the angel's presence to his mental breakdown didn't unnerve him, when Dean even refused to appear nervous around Sam.

He figured that, since he was dealing with an almighty being, Castiel wouldn't treat him differently just because he was messed up in the head. He was looking down at him as if he was a mere piece of dirt and would keep on looking at him the same way, without the typical pity people had.

Finally, he raised his head to look at him, reading concern in his deep blue eyes. Dean wouldn't help himself: he began laughing at the scene uncontrollably, leaning back to fully lay on the bed. Castiel looked even more confused than before.

"Relax, dude. I'm just fucked up in the head, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

He tilted his head in confusion again and Dean, despite himself, couldn't help but smile at him, "I cannot detect any injuries on your brain, how is it possible?"

The hunter huffed out a breathy laugh: he had asked himself the same question since he was a child and his father told him to grow up and stop acting childishly. "Fuck me if I know, it's just the way it is sometimes." He then added hastily, trying to change the subject as soon as possible, "But anyway, what were we talking about?" Just because he wasn't bothered by the angel seeing him like that, it didn't mean he wanted to still talk about it. Girls and Faggots only solved their problems talking, and he was neither.

"I believe it is best for you to rest, Dean," he said, not buying his bravado and crossing his arms in a way too human manner that almost made him forget he was dealing with a celestial being.

Moving back into sitting position, he stretched, "Nah I'm good." It was getting quite late now, closer to two pm, and Dean could feel the awfully familiar pain of an empty stomach now that his head had cleaned up. He had been too nervous to even grab a coffee on his way to the ~~monster's~~ demon's house. Usually he would have to wait until his father was ready to eat and not to disturb him if he was working just because _'he was hungry_ ’.

But his father hadn't been with him for a long time and he didn't have to worry about his brother first, although old habits die hard. "Actually, I'm kinda starving so if you'd like we could go grab a bite while we plan our next move on this demon" he surprised himself saying, but stood his ground as soon as the words came out of him.

Castiel seemed to ponder about it, turning back to his research wall.

Dean was actually very proud and impressed with himself: he had managed all of that by himself without messing up too much and had actually got half of the stuff right.

"I will wait for you in your vehicle" the angel simply told him before disappearing once more.

And now he was once again alone. He rose slowly from the bed, conscious that his legs might be slightly unsteady and that his head was still spinning. ' _Not bad, Winchester'_ he thought with a small smile on his lips, _'You got an actual angel impressed with your useless self. Maybe next Dad will be too!'_

He then snorted out loud, John Winchester was many things, but not someone that could've been proud of his dumb son. Dean was only good at following orders and had even troubles at it from time to time. His father always had to remind him to focus and not to space out and not to be a burden. " _Why can't you be more like Sam?"_ he had asked once. Dean had to stop himself from replying that Sammy wasn't exactly their father's problem, since it was him that took care of his little brother, but he managed to keep his mouth shut and avoided the consequences of talking back to John Winchester.

Snapping out of his daydream, he grabbed his jacket and wallet once more, checking if he had the right cards and documents. He was a random dude named Brian Lennox, the name came to him from listening too much to Queen songs. He was always really proud of his fake aliases, even when Sammy belittled him for his _'nerdiness'_ and his father scolded him for making them recognisable.

Taking one last deep breath, he went out of the door, ready to face the day again.

***

Behind the wheel once more and very much more comfortable around the angel, Dean finally managed to relax a little. He had even popped on a Metallica cassette, that was now screaming its tunes as they drove throughout the town.

At first the angel seemed bothered by the music, but he visibly relaxed as Dean absentminded hummed the songs.

They had been driving for a while now, Castiel contemplating whatever as Dean looked for a place to eat. Having been in town for the past two weeks, he did have a pretty vast knowledge of its diners and fast-food chains, but he did not know what the angel liked. Probably something fancy and posh.

He was internally battling whether he should've asked or not to the celestial being what he wanted for their late lunch, when he was beaten to the conversation. "I do not need to consume food to sustain myself."

Dean abruptly hit the brakes and pulled into a stop in front of a diner that had a " _best bacon in town"_ poster. He then turned to his companion with a very shocked expression, unable to fully get the concept. "Wait, what? Like at all?"

"Yes, Dean" the way the angel said his name brought unpleasant sensations to his body that he should've ignored to full extent, "As you mediocrely put it, _'like at all_ '"

"Not even for funzies?"

"I am incapable of understanding you." Again, that stupid head tilt that most definitely was the cutest thing in the Universe.

Pulling himself out of a dangerous thinking progress, he kept on asking: "For real? Not even pie?"

"No. Although I thought you humans preferred cake. Your kind usually has them at the anniversaries of your birth dates. Is it not correct?"

 _'No it's not correct you fucking moron!'_ his mind screamed at Castiel, for once wishing to be read. The plan actually worked as the angel was now looking at him with a perplexed and slightly hurt expression. Dean then sighed, running again a hand through his messy hair, before saying: "Listen, Cas. Never say something like that in front of me ever again or I'll stab ya. Again. I take my pie very seriously."

That freaking winged overgrown baby had the audacity to snort! "I understand this might be an important subject to you," he said in a rather mocking tone.

Who knew celestial beings were such smartasses!

"Hell yeah it is!" He yelled, getting in a defensive stance, "Pie's the most important thing in my life after my little brother Sammy!"

He then felt the need to change the subject, not trusting himself to talk about Sammy after everything. "But now, onto business. You want something to eat?"

"I already told you, I do not need sustenance" Castiel scoffed, annoyed.

"Yeah, I get it. But do you want it?" Dean pressed, more insistent now. Just because one didn't need something that didn't mean they couldn't enjoy it!

He now looked at his lap, unsure of what to say next. Eventually, he blurted out a quick "I have never eaten human food."

"Okay, then it's settled! My treat, hot wings" replied Dean with a smile, suddenly happy and excited about it all over again. That until Cas asked one simple question: "Isn't it male human custom to pay for their romantic counterparts?"

He was now really uncomfortable. He faced the wheel once more, it was his turn to look sheepishly at his hands. His mind followed two different paths, _"I mean he's Hella hot and interesting and all but do I really want to die cause I tell a freaking angel I'm into both?"_ and _"Honestly I just wanna get this over with cause I'm too hungry to even think straight as I should."_

In the end, he chose a different and safer approach to the subject: "Yeah, but you got money?"

Castiel shook his head, serious and thankfully unaware of the Dean's internal monologue.

"Didn't think so" he said then, after having lost 10 years due to stress, "You though can see this as a date, if you want. A WORK DATE!" he said all too quickly, correcting his mistake with a non-threatening situation. "Yup, cause I'm totally straight as an arrow!"

He then proceeded to sprint out of his car, motioning to Cas to follow him as well and all but stormed into the little diner.

 _"It's gonna be a long hunt,"_ he thought as he moved into an empty booth and tilted his head towards the opposite side for Castiel to sit in.

 _"But it's gonna be totally worth it_ " he then added as the angel looked puzzledly all around them and smiled at the approaching waitress.

Dean Winchester was most definitely screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, and forever will be, still salty about firefly. Dean is definitely too cause, c'mon.  
> ALso, He's a disaster bi it's canon


	4. Castiel

The hunter was nervous. That much could be understood even without hearing his stream of thoughts, which was something Castiel was not doing. He did not think his companion would have appreciated him inside his mind and therefore he was keeping himself respectfully out.

Castiel had to admit his interest concerning the hunter: there was something unsettling about him, an ancient energy all around him that he could not decipher, but it all paled in comparison to the kind soul his eyes could see. He had not personally met many humans and did not hold conversations with them, yet he knew that none of those eventualities could reach the depth of small discussion with Dean Winchester. The hunter had unsettled him with his blunt words and had disarmed him with his clever mind, and the angel was pleasantly surprised by him.

Some words of Castiel had bothered him profoundly, yet he could not understand which, and therefore could not apologise for those. The hunter had left their conversation in the vehicle abruptly and motioned him to follow inside the small red building. The large glass windows showed a clear view of the few humans inside, which were all doing the same activity with different variations of food.

To Castiel's knowledge, humans consumed a diverse and vast amount of nutrients, derived from animals and plants alike, but they each had their preferences. He could clearly remember the prayer of an old mother, desperate for her son had chosen to not eat any type of meat in his life.

He extended himself out of the vehicle, removing his belt and closing the door as the hunter had done, and began walking towards the said human. He simply could not understand the concept of eating, for it was beneath him and his siblings. Every human aspect was beneath him, yet here he was, entering a room that smelled of oil and salt above all, following an insolent hunter who was now seated next to a small table and was eyeing rather aggressively a small piece of rigid paper.

Castiel simply stood there, unaware of social norms and human habits regarding dining. Was he supposed to seat next to the hunter or in front of him? Perhaps a different table would be preferable, taking in consideration his previous outburst of panic towards townsfolk seeing two men together.

"Sit down, will ya? I'm trying to figure what you might like." That narrowed down Castiel's possible course of action, and he did as he was told. He was a soldier, after all, and was excellent at following orders. "I already told you, I do not need to consume sustenance," he said with a stern voice, giving in to their previous disagreement. It seemed that, despite the number of times he had expressed the same concept, it did not remain in the hunter's mind. Indeed, said hunter simply shook his head vehemently, "Yeah you told me, but I'm not gonna be the jerk that eats alone and has some asshole staring at him!" he commented, looking at the approaching waitress with a gaze that could only be described as _'predatory'_ _._ His eyes were set on her and he studied her up and down, taking notice of her movements, as if he was torn between attraction and cautiousness towards the walking human. " _Perhaps, this behaviour linked together with his nervousness displayed earlier at being seen alone with a male,_ " Castiel thought, not wanting to listen to the hunter's mind without an invitation. It simply seemed impolite, although the angel had never bothered with human customs.

The young female was wearing a short, pale blue skirt and a white shirt below her apron, her hair tied up on the top of her head. Her thoughts were simple and clear, one said _"these fucking heels are killing me"_ , referring to the shoes that looked, indeed, rather uncomfortable for a job that mostly revolved around the actions of standing and walking, and " _hope they tip well"._ Castiel could not comprehend her second thought, but he assumed the hunter knew what she was talking about. Nevertheless, he willed the poor girl's feet to hurt a little less, making her situation more bearable.

"Hi! What can I get you?" she asked, and the practised smile on her lips turned from slightly fake to one of relief as Castiel's work went into fruition. He could not help himself from smiling back, earning a curious glare from the hunter, who then began ordering for both of them, despite Castiel's complaints. He did not particularly bother listening to the order, conscious that it would not matter.

He supposed it was hunter customary, this sarcastic and annoying behaviour, added with the vast amount of cursing.

"May I know what you ordered for me?" he asked as soon as the waitress was out of earshot. The hunter merely shrugged and said "Something that you'll like. In case you don't, I'll eat it." The sheer arrogance of that short sentence made him almost want to _not_ enjoy the food, but he was an angel and so, statistically speaking, there was a great chance that the molecules of the dish would not bring him any enjoyment, at least not as much as it would to the hunter. He told him as much and was rewarded with a bright laugh, crystalline and pure, the first one since their meeting earlier, as the hunter's body folded himself over the small table, nearly avoiding the small containers of salt and pepper.

It was supposedly human custom to laugh whenever someone else was, but that scene did not amuse Castiel and therefore he did not partake in the action, remaining seated on his chair and scanning the room with his eyes in the search for demonic activity.

"Are you always this difficult with everyone or am I just special?" the hunter asked once he had restored his posture, wiping fake tears off of his eyes.

He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture he had seen many humans do as well in typical situations as the one he was currently in, "I am not _'difficult'_. I have a job to do and you are in the way." His tone was even and betrayed no emotion, yet the hunter seemed to take it as a challenge, rather than as the warning it was supposed to be.

"Yeah, yeah" he replied, waving a hand dismissively as if trying to remove a flying insect, "Can you feel the chick?" Castiel didn't have an answer and merely remained silent, staring forward into the hunter's very green eyes.

" _That is a rather interesting colour,"_ he thought to himself, shielding his mind to avoid the possibility of one of his siblings or even a mortal psychic to listen to his internal commentary.

The hunter, obviously, brought him back to reality: "Didn't think so" he said, smiling proudly at his correctness, "until then we've got nothing else to do other than waiting." He then added in a slightly different range, raising up an octave as he saw the waitress approach with two plates as well as leaning back on his booth in what Castiel assumed to be a ‘ _casual_ _stance’_ , "Don't worry Cas, she'll get back soon!" The sudden change worried Castiel, but he didn't comment, understanding how the hunter might have modified the situation to conceal their conversation from prying ears.

Right on cue, the young waitress arrived at the table, smiling kindly and placing the plates in front of them. The content consisted of a disk of beef meat over various vegetables and some dairy cheese, closed inside two slices of levitated bread and rectangular and long shaped potatoes. Humans called each _'burger'_ and _'fries_ ' and Castiel had never had either, therefore his curiosity was incredibly high, while he maintained his expectations low and in check.

He immediately saw the hunter grab the contents of his plate voraciously, quickly biting into it as soon as the waitress left them alone. He took a few seconds to chew the contents of his mouth, closing his eyes to savour the moment. Castiel could only stare, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to do with the food and studying the hunter’s stance as he ate. It was a rather peculiar moment, one he was positive he would have laughed at, was it any one of his siblings in his place.

The hunter then abruptly swallowed his bite, wiping his mouth with a nearby napkin, and moved to hold one of the potatoes in front of Castiel’s face: “This” he said with a superiority tone and aura, “is a fry. Pop one into your mouth.” He then proceeded to complete the action himself, effectively showing the correct procedure. Castiel was more cautious, though, and took his time to examine the curious shape; it clearly was fried in oil and coated in salt, yet he could not understand the great importance of the starchy vegetable. Surely, the Irish held them in high consideration, after their many years of starvation due to the low crops. But they were not in Ireland.

Slowly, he raised one to his mouth, eyeing the food the entire time, and took a careful bite out of it. He was instantly overpowered by the salt surrounding the crispy outer layer of the potato, while the inside was incredibly warm and soft. It almost felt like an out-of-body experience to Castiel, something he would have appreciated without a vessel. He was partially right: the different molecules that made the texture of the food, taken singularly, would have not brought him as much enjoyment as they did altogether.

He begrudgingly had to admit that the hunter had guessed correctly.

Castiel had not realized he had closed his eyes while savouring the small bite until he opened them once again, seeing the smug smirk on the hunter’s face alongside a mockingly raised eyebrow.

“Good?” he asked, probably fully aware of the answer already. He had a light tint on his cheeks, most likely due to a rush of heat or to the action of consuming the food himself. Castiel did not deign him with a reply, suddenly remembering who he truly was, despite his tame demeanour, and merely moved to grab another potato, “ _They’re called fries, how original_ ” he thought to himself, and hastily chewed on it, ignoring the hunter completely.

His companion chuckled and went back to his eating as well, leaving a dense yet comfortable silence around their table.


	5. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys sorry to come out like this out of the blue, but would you mind giving me a bit of a feedback on this fic?   
> Thanks in advance,  
> Jo

Baby was running smoothly over the pavement. With a Van Halen mixtape on the cassette player and one of his hands on the wheel, Dean felt at peace.

Overall, it had been a very interesting day. Strange, ridiculous and completely out of his league, yet interesting. He had met an Angel, found out about other supernatural and powerful threats that he had to watch his back from, ate a really good burger and a delicious slice of pie that left even said Angel speechless, had seen the face he had made while eating for the first time, and he had flirted and stared like a dumbstruck teenager at said Angel on countless occasions. So, overall interesting.

They had divided after leaving the little diner, Castiel zapping away somewhere to scan the area for the demon, effectively leaving Dean alone with his mind for the first time that day. He was reaching back and forth between the new information he had just received, adding it to his previous research and his previous knowledge mentally. He’d file it all on his wall of evidence when he’d get to the motel, but focusing on it helped him not get too lost in his thoughts.

He was passing corners and buildings, mindlessly driving in the general direction of the motel, careful of his surroundings, but still carefree and joyful. He couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever was up there had planned their meeting, because it just felt right, talking with Castiel.

He tried not to think too much about him, but failed miserably. He had just seen the dude eat his first burger and the image was burned on his eyelids forever, no turning back now! Except that the _dude_ in question was not a dude, but an almighty cosmic being, wearing a regular hot dude, on a termination mission and he was a mere hunter, closeted and scared of what might happen.

His father had expressed on more than one occasion his disapproval of certain lifestyles, which wasn’t encouraging at all. But John Winchester had also kicked out Sammy for wanting to go to college, which wasn’t something that was generally frowned upon. Actually the contrary, in every society and city.

So, maybe his father wasn’t always right and his prejudices were his alone and maybe he wasn’t doing nothing wrong, daydreaming of hanging out with Castiel for more than a hunt.

But he was still a hunter on a job, and once that was done he’d have to move on to the next rather quickly. He had wasted too much time and it wasn’t a good thing. And the Angel had orders to follow, even if they were brutal and inhumane, and Dean was sure he’s also had to move away quickly after wasting too much time on a single case.

So, overall, despite the clear attractiveness of the angel, they had to conclude a job quickly and each leave to their own respective paths. _“It’ll be better that way, Winchester. He’s a fucking angel for crying out loud, who you’re gonna fool?”_

Not his father, that was for certain: one look in his direction and John Winchester would’ve found out exactly what Dean had been up to. It was already bad enough to lie about the monster he was hunting, and he’d have to practise and practise his point of view to make it convincing, but add to the equation the strange warmth in his chest whenever the angel tilted his head when he couldn’t understand something Dean said and he was very much fucked.

Forget a monster, if John Winchester had found out the truth, he would have murdered Dean with his bare hands. No side questions asked and no warning.

And that wasn’t just Dean’s personal fear speaking, but rather years of experience and training and comments.

Better to keep his mouth shut and his heart closed. He wasn’t Sammy, after all: the favorite one that could mess up as much as he wanted, that still did each job and task perfectly, that even if he had all but run away, was still the best son. He was Dean, the fuck up, the one who couldn’t get his grades straight and the one who couldn’t get on board with the hunter lifestyle when they started.

In the years he had learnt that it was best to follow orders, instead of defying them. It was best to stick to his father’s planning, however dangerous for him they might be.

He had to remind himself that John Winchester wasn’t there. Just because the shadow of his father was constantly looming over him, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t enjoy his temporary freedom whenever he was alone. He was an amazing liar, after all, he just needed to man up and be discrete around certain topics.

He had done it once, when he was in high school. In one of the several ones he changed that year.

He tried not to make friends, because he knew that eventually, they would move wherever the next job was and, whether that was in a week or in three months, he would have to leave the new people behind and forget them, and it hurt like a motherfucker. When he was younger and naïve, he was a social butterfly, the new kid that made funny jokes and had crazy stories about places all over the states. With time, he closed himself off, eventually barely talking to anyone and giving off a very mysterious and loner vibe. Somehow, it made keeping himself distanced by possible pains worse: girls began falling at his feet, attracted by his devil-may-care attitude; sportspeople noticed him in PE class and tried to recruit him for whichever team their school had; teachers liked his quietness in class, especially because whenever he spoke in class, he actually gave properly good answers to their questions.

Yet he wasn’t one for the attention, always trying to tone it down a notch with each school he passed. Unfortunately for him, he still had an innate charisma and a good soul.

John had left them once more, for a couple of months. He had rented and already paid for an apartment for the time being as he left his sons behind. Dean was 17 and with Baby, he could go and do whatever he needed to. Again, another mechanic could use a hand, which he was very glad to give him, especially when it came with a few bucks more than usual. The routine was simply: the two Winchester boys would go to school; Dean would finish before lunch and head to work, Sammy had to stay there also in the afternoon for classes and projects; whenever he was done, he’d pick up his brother either directly at school or at a friend’s house, Sammy always managed to make friends; home, homework and a home-cooked meal and then repeat the next day. Dean was exceptional at following schedules and had no problem keeping up, as long as Sammy was okay.

One day, he met the son of his employer, a boy in one of his classes, that was also quiet and preferred solitude. Unwillingly, the two boys hit it off right away, hanging out in and outside of school, studying together and even spending their free times in each other’s company. One thing led to the other and before Dean knew it, he had fallen. Hard.

It wasn’t a simple friendship: the boy gave him a warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest, one that usually girls evoked. They both lived in their little happy bubble for weeks, secretly and unbeknownst to everyone else, sharing covers and secret kisses under the bleachers of the football field.

It was paradise.

But the bubble burst, John Winchester came back and took them away into the next adventure. Despite everything, Dean managed to lie to his father and let the escaped unnoticed miraculously. He had always had his suspicions, but never admitted to them. Now, he had no idea of what to know with his truth other than to hide it away, scared shitless and constantly watching his back, not acting on his impulses whenever his father was around.

Castiel evoked the same feelings that shy boy did, that a lot of boys and girls did during the years. And for the first time, John Winchester wasn’t around to dictate and punish him.

But Dean wasn’t foolish and stupid, he knew better by now, he knew that no matter what he felt, he might not be always corresponded.

And an Angel? Just thinking about it was stupid and dangerous.

No matter how their short time together had made him feel, he couldn’t go around losing his head. No matter how funny and attractive and smart and wonderful the counterpart was. No matter how his blue eyes sparkled.

He was now completely lost down in his mind, when a red light forced him to stop.

Looking around bored and lightly tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of Van Halen’s _Panama_ , that was when he saw it: a black cloud of smoke, too vivid to be normal and too lively to be moved by the wind, plummeted down into a random girl, into her late 20s, that was entering in what must’ve been her house. The girl immediately tensed and turned around, searching her surroundings, sporting a pair of pitch-black eyes. Dean averted his gaze immediately, to not be spotted as a hunter on the job but rather as a weird passer-by waiting for the light to turn green. She then revolved back into the house, as the original girl probably intended.

As soon as the semaphore turned, he hit the gas and drove as fast as Baby could, sprinting on the pavement, equally excited and scared at his discovery.

He absolutely couldn’t wait to tell Castiel.

_“See? You knew you might’ve been useful to him somehow!”_ his mind whispered, happily for once.


	6. Castiel

There was a human emotion, frustration, that had always bothered him. An Angel was not supposed to feel it, considering they were not supposed to be in the situation of failure in the first place. It was not a customary experience, and the anger that derived from it was incredibly useless.

Humans failed in such extreme lengths that it became a trait in their personality. An Angel who failed was punished.

How come a small ant-like the Hunter managed to figure a pattern in the demon’s activity in the town while he had not made a single progress since coming into the scene?

Castiel had flown directly to the house, using his Angelic Grace to locate the abomination. Yet he had failed on completing his job, letting the demon escape and prolonging the irritating search for the completion of his task.

Yes, frustration was a primarily human experience, yet it was also something that Castiel had experienced and was experiencing. And it was not pleasant.

He had spent the entire time away from the hunter scanning the area, looking for the demon, without any success: it was in a non-corporeal state and therefore Castiel was unable to localize it.

He heard the sound of an engine coming to a close outside of the hunter’s room and patiently waited, trying not to focus on the disturbing and tumultuous state of his mind. Feelings were humans, and he was not one of them. So, therefore, he could not indulge in those.

Dean Winchester opened the door abruptly, “I found her!” he yelled excitedly as he entered his personal room, a wild and carefree expression on his features. Castiel immediately tensed, unaware of the reason behind his own action, yet cautious nonetheless.

He had enjoyed his time with the hunter, had been impressed with the human. Was it sadness, The dark emotion longing in his Grace, tainting it, that mocked him from the inside as he understood that his time in that small town was coming to an end?

“How? I have not been able to sense her” he asked, maintaining his stoic appearance while his insides puzzled him infinitely. There was a twisted sense of shame, at not being able to properly follow his orders, linked with some sort of pride at the Hunter’s work. It was impressive, truly. He had managed to track the demon once, but twice, despite his limited knowledge in the matter.

Yet, he seemed to be unable to take the implicit compliment that Castiel sent in his direction, for he merely lifted his shoulders, only to release them immediately in a very dismissal gesture: “Was walking in a house with freakish black eyes” he only said, self-explaining the entire complex process of a demon possession in a few simple words. He then proceeded to remove his jacket and weaponry, sitting on his bed and expectantly looking at Castiel, as if he had asked a silent question only he could reply to.

Castiel had tried to keep out of the Hunter’s mind out of respect and he did not think it would be appropriate to intrude his private thoughts to gather the whereabouts of the demon, so he simply stared back, waiting for the hunter to willingly tell him. “I can take you there, if you want to” he admitted, almost looking sheepish for reasons unbeknownst to Castiel. He apparently was not going to divulge the information. He had to ensure, after all, his own utility to the mission, Castiel reasoned, and that was the only way for the hunter to do so.

“Very well, thank you for your assistance,” he exclaimed, nodding his heads in acknowledgement of his action. The hunter broke in a blinding smile, one that suggested he had rarely received the validation he deserved and craved. It was a pity, considering the thorough research and the clear talent for hunting supernatural entities. “I will terminate her as soon as you can get me there” he then added, suddenly remembering that he was supposed to terminate his job and not fraternize with a human.

“What about the girl?” the hunter asked, a worried frown on his forehead signalling discomfort.

“Which girl are you talking about?”

“The one that’s being possessed!”

Castiel had momentarily forgotten about the host. She was not essential to the mission and his orders didn’t include her safety. He had been told to finish the demon, to terminate that abomination with the least amount of collateral damage, and that meant to simply strike both the demon and the vessel. “I suppose she will be collateral damage.”

The hunter became enraged, he leapt up to his feet and looked at Castiel with a bewildered expression. His breathing became uneven, his heart rate sped up in a non-pathological way and his movements became erratic. “Hell no!” he yelled, his blown wide eyes betraying his fear. Castiel did not know how to deal with the hunter in such a state, so he simply waited for him to calm and gather his mind. It was not a situation that demanded his immediate intervention, unlike a similar one that had happened earlier, and the hunter managed to control himself.

He passed a hand over his face, breathing slowly and closing his eyes. “I’ll read everything I can find on exorcisms and such. We’re doing this right” he said, staring deeply at Castiel with a resolution that he had never seen before.

But he had orders to follow. He was about to counteract that there was no ‘ _right’_ way, only one that would minimize damage, yet he opted for a more straightforward reply: “I do not care about the human. I need to complete my mission.”

“One day. 24 hours, Castiel, that’s all I’m asking. Then you can kill both, I swear. Just let me try to save her.”

He did not know what made him agree. Perhaps it was the desperation or the hope he could read on the hunter’s face, perhaps it was his own want to preserve an innocent human being, perhaps it was simple foolishness. Yet, he was sure he meant his words when he agreed with the hunter.

“Fine. 24 hours and not a minute more.”

The smile the hunter gave him was blinding, once again, his green eyes sparkling. “Alright!” he exclaimed, possibly not believing that that was going to be their path, but pleased.

“Better get to work then,” he said, motioning to the small dining table that was filled with books and papers, pulling a chair out for Castiel to sit.


	7. Dean

Dean wasn’t very used on things working in his favour.

No, that would be an understatement: in a life where luck decided whether you were going to eat or starve on a game based on a game of pool in a shitty bar somewhere in Montana, he was prepared for both outcomes, but had grown to expect the latter, as if was the most probable. Also, to add to the equation, there was the fact that in shitty bars in Montana he always managed to win against people twice his size, so he ended up on the short end of a stick either way.

Even by simply working alongside his father, he knew that ‘ _his way’_ was the wrong one. He was, after all, the messy son, the least favorite, the fuck up, the one who didn’t get the proper connection between point A and point B. His leads were all wrong, his research method was laughable and, hell, even the way he decapitated Vamps wasn’t proper or efficient!

Sam was always perfect and precise, and Dean was lazy and disorganized.

He had grown used to it, almost expected the treatment and the disapproval and the shame.

So he now he was nervously waiting for things to blow up in his face, go shit-side up, waiting to mess everything up with his unsteady brain.

The Angel had given him 24 hours to try and save the girl that had been possessed. Funny thing was, he didn’t even know the first thing about possessions. Hell, he had only just learnt about the existence of demons and angels that same morning!

To say Dean wasn’t prepared was the biggest understatement of the century, millennium, of the entire time. He was bound to mess up, he was bound to miss something. The girl was doomed, since she was in his hands. Perhaps Castiel finishing her would be a mercy, at least quicker than his idiotic hero complex that would definitely get them both killed.

“ _Castiel seems to think differently,”_ his mind told him, reassuring him, so at odds with his usual internal monologue, but Dean by now suspected better. It was probably a test, meant to see if he was all that or just some other stupid monkey that played like a warrior; or he was just using him to pass his time, instead of finishing his mission and going away he was getting entertained by Dean’s sheer incompetence; or maybe he was just doing it for a good laugh.

Definitely the last one.

It would’ve been hilarious, Dean had to give it to the Angel for that: he could already imagine the scene, Castiel flying back to Heaven or whatever headquarter complex Angels used, probably at the high top of some tall glass building in either New York or London, spinning the tale of the idiot hunter that thought he could save the damsel in distress.

Absolutely Hilarious!

“ his mind spoke softly, bringing him some clarity. Of course that wasn’t how Dean saw the Angel: Castiel had been kind and understanding and downright amazing. He was fun to be around, with his complete lack of pop culture and quick remarks, and he managed to make Dean’s heart flutter faster than anybody else ever had and his cheeks blush. When he had complimented him earlier about his work, he had not believed him, yet throughout the day Castiel had pointed one too many aspects of Dean’s research for it to be intentional, claiming it was ‘ _admirable’_ and _‘remarkable’_ and one too many adjective Dean had rarely heard directed to him.

Despite his initial rigidness, he had loosened up, figuratively and literally: he seemed more comfortable around Dean, asking questions and challenging him, and he had also loosened up his tie, leaving it to hang somehow awkwardly around his neck, revealing the muscles and the veins and the flesh.

Dean wasn’t usually that easy to impress and distract, especially not when he was focused on a hunt, yet it took him several minutes to recompose after he saw the slender fingers pull at that atrocious looking tie. He still kept on the trenchcoated, for reasons unknown to Dean but that made him thank whoever was listening nevertheless: without the trench Castiel would basically be naked, and they only had 19 hours to go now and they needed all the time they had.

When they had begun their research, Dean felt confident. He had managed to have a freaking Angel agree with him, after all, so he must’ve been doing something right.

With time, though, dread crept up and his fears made their way into his brain once more, as they usually ended up to. He wasn’t going fast enough, he wasn’t finding anything at all, he was wasting Castiel’s time. There were too many ways this could go wrong, with only one possible happy outcome. They were all doomed.

And Dean dreaded the moment Castiel would realize it too.

Or perhaps he had already realized it and was trying to soften the blow, for whatever reason. The Angel had left twenty minutes ago, claiming to go and find some other books that might’ve helped them. After all, Dean’s library didn’t have much on demons and the Bible the motel gave each room didn’t exactly came with an exorcism instruction manual. He had simply zapped out, leaving Dean alone with his thought that turned darker and darker by the second.

It was incredibly surreal, the way the Angel seemed to influence his thoughts: when he had been around, he felt lighter and confident in his work; but the minute he left, he once again began to spiral down the tunnel of self-deprecation and despair that accompanied him so often. Perhaps it was just his imagination or his dumbness, or the fact that he was attracted to him despite the clear warning that nothing could’ve happened, but Castiel had managed to calm him down and comfort him and give him more confidence in the small amount of time they had shared than his father in his entire life.

But in the end, he had left nevertheless. And who could blame him, an Angel of the Lord, perfect in every way, for it, when even John Winchester couldn’t stomach to be around his son for too long? His father had, more than once, admitted of having to take a break from him and his constant messing.

 _‘That’s why I gave you the car. So you’d stop bothering me’_ he had once said, the empty bottle of liquor next to him revealing the truth that he’d always kept hidden. Dean had never confronted him about it, never brought it up in fear of his father’s reaction and to avoid the confirmation of his deepest nightmare.

But when Sam left for Stanford, Dean realized that it was all true. He was alone, had driven everyone away, and by now he knew better than to hope for someone to stick around and deal with his bullshit.

And if no human could tolerate him, why would a freaking Angel? Dean was only setting himself up for hurt in this hunt, he should’ve just had that memory wipe Castiel almost gave him in the morning. He was definitely going to let him down, only now he’d have to relieve all the memory and pain.

Castiel appeared at the exact spot he had previously occupied out of the blue, dropping a hefty pile of books on the table. His face was void of emotion, as per usual, but as soon as he saw Dean, his brow furrowed.

 _‘Of course, Winchester, he’d expect you to fuck off by now’_ his mind screamed, shame coloring his face as he looked down at his scribbled notes. His father always scolded him on his handwriting, claiming it was unreadable and impossible to decipher; Dean had once tried counteracted, telling him that _his_ and everyone else’s was a mess of wobbly lines that he couldn’t follow, but had just given up, holding everything tight in and pretending John’s words didn’t hurt.

 _‘That’s not true’_ his mind responded, speaking gently, so at odds with his previous thoughts. It almost felt as there were two different voices, each expressing two different and conflicting opinions. Sometimes his conscience would do that, split into two and talk reality and sense into him, but in the end the harsher one always won. After all, nothing in his life had ever contradicted the nasty little voice.

Castiel had remained standing. Dean could feel his eyes boring into his shoulders, but pretended to ignore it, trying to keep that little posture he had left.

“You must be hungry once more,” the Angel said abruptly, without a warning.

Dean whipped around immediately. He blurted out a quick “What?” as his mind tried to understand the true meaning of his words. Perhaps he wanted to work alone, take advantage of the books he had brought without the human distracting and annoying him.

Castiel looked at him with an exasperated look on his face, as if it was a matter of fact. “Human bodies need sustenance to function, and humans eat more than once a day” he deadpanned and, for good measure, crossed his arms over his chest.

Dean _had_ begun to get hungry, that much was true, but he was also very much used to the feeling and had learnt to live with it, to push through it.  
“Yeah, but I’m used to pull all-nighters with an empty stomach, so nothing to worry about” he claimed, trying to turn back to his books. A hand on his shoulder stopped his motion and he now had to face the Angel while trying to keep his head straight.  
“I insist. An ‘empty stomach’ would derail your mind from the task at hand and I would actually appreciate if we managed to follow through with your plan.”  
He must’ve been joking, right? Dean couldn’t believe it, by the slightest. He probably didn’t need him and was actually using him to amuse himself.

“I do not wish to harm an innocent woman, Dean” he claimed, serious and lethal. It was almost like he had read his mind, which was a very likely possibility, Dean reminded himself, since the Angel actually could do it.

How much had he heard?

He was about to retort back that he was, in fact, perfectly fine, when his stomach loudly spoke for him. There was no living that down now.  
“Okay, alright. I’ll see you in the car” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and moving to grab his jacket and keys.

Castiel disappeared wordlessly once more, leaving him to wonder and ponder at the unorthodox situation once more.

An Angel and a Hunter walk into a bar. What could go wrong!


	8. Castiel

Despite his initial refrain, the hunter made an excellent point and was working feverishly to achieve his goal.

Castiel remembered rather vividly the time when he and his siblings actually helped the humans, his Father’s most prized creation: it used to be a common thing, giving those tiny ants a push in the right direction to find food or the cure for a pious man that prayed, even if to the wrong entity, for his dark and taxing fever to stop.

When humanity became more and more ‘advanced’, as they liked to call themselves, they also became meaner and more suspicious; they began to shy away from his siblings, who decided that, unless their Father ordered it, would keep mostly to themselves. No more helping farmers during flood seasons, for they were not grateful and his siblings had grown ruthless.

Nowadays, the humans fended for themselves, had their free will and had to live with the consequences of their ancestors’ actions. Castiel was a soldier, he followed orders to a fault, yet there was a tiny part of him that still wanted to help those creatures, to give them aid in their darkest nights.

And for the first time in a long time, he actually could. And all thanks to a hunter who saw the world for how it should’ve been.

He had been in his mind, more times that he thought it was acceptable: it was a fragile balance, the one inside Dean Winchester’s brain, between restlessness and peace. During the short time they had spent together, Castiel had learned that the anxiety inside him was higher than normal, and, in a few cases, it had caused the hunter to spiral and panic.

He could feel his discomfort without even being inside his mind the first time and once he had tried to enter it, to try to calm him and soften his emotions, Castiel had found an intricate labyrinth that guarded his psych against the outside. It was a medieval gate, locked and sealed to avoid the pain while also keeping the tumultuous emotions inside, locked in tight. It had gone by itself, for Castiel hadn’t been able to be of assistance and the hunter had, if his memories were truthful, experience dealing with those strong emotions.

And they were terribly strong, so powerful it must have been exhausting. Yet the hunter never complained, always wore a careless mask and an attitude that signalled he cared about nothing and no one. But that was also an illusion, for Dean Winchester cared and worried, perhaps too deeply, about everything.

Castiel had kept away from his mind for the majority of their shared time, but after a few hours, his internal thoughts had become too loud to be ignored: it was an angry voice, scared and ready to attack, that wanted control over his mind. On the small occasions that Castiel had heard it without probing inside the hunter’s mind, he had used his Grace to smooth it down, inserting comforting thought of his own making that worked wonders. His shoulders relaxed, the worrisome crease over his browbones dissipated and his heartbeat slowed down to regularity and physiology.

When Castiel had come back with several books that they might have needed in their conjoined research, after a rather short period of absence, the hunter emanated such a powerful state of distress that he had to comfort him. He had paused their work, all but ordering the hunter to eat something for he was stubborn.

The rest of the evening had moved along without hiccups, then.

Until now.

The clock on the room wall signalled 6 in the morning, the light beginning to filter in the room through the curtains hanging on the window. Castiel, as an Angel and Celestial Being, did not need rest, unlike the hunter. It saddened him immensely of having realized at such lateness it: if he had not been immersed in their project, he would have suggested the hunter to sleep.

Truthfully, Castiel wouldn’t have realized the tardiness of their business unless the hunter had fallen headfirst over the notebook where he was annotating everything that he deemed important. He had sprinted up almost immediately after, fretting and with ever-rising panic.

“I just need coffee” he yelled, his breath increasing in rapidity and his eyes blown wide in what Castiel realized was fear.

 _“You have nothing to fear from me, Dean_ ” he felt compelled to say, but he wondered if that wording was inappropriate.

Instead, he chose a more direct approach: “You should rest. Human brains need to recover and reset.”  
“I’m perfectly fine” he claimed, assuming a defensive stance and crossing his arms. But despite how much he tried to maintain composure, his body betrayed him: he was slightly shaking, right leg bouncing and eyes unfocused. Mastering all the kindness he could, Castiel softly spoke to him, while maintaining an authoritative tone: “No, you are not. Your vitals suggest you need to sleep in order to properly function.”  
“I don’t need sleep. I am used to pulling all-nighters so stop bothering me” he was quick to reply, turning once more to his books and picking up a pen and repeatedly clicking it, to make some of the nerves dissipate probably.

“You are being stubborn.” Castiel couldn’t understand why. He was aware that the humans were aware of the consequences of insomnia and he had not detected any physical chronical illness in the hunter. It was utterly illogical.

“Oh, stop tilting your head! I’m fine. Stop worrying and let’s get back to work!” the hunter quickly said, colour creeping up in his cheeks for reasons unbeknownst to Castiel. There were many reasons for such blood rush, but he could not link any of those to their current debacle.

Of course, unless… “You are afraid of losing time,” he said, the realization hitting him and surprising him. They had reached a good point in their research, mainly due to the hunter’s diligence and method. He himself had vocalized how impressed he had been, which had caused internal turmoil in said hunter, who apparently was not used to receiving compliments. Castiel was confident they would manage to perform the exorcism and kill the demon without harming the vessel. There was nothing more they would need to find in books, which would give the hunter plenty of time to recover from the very stressful day he had just had.  
“Whatever.”  
“Do not worry. We still have time and you deserve a… what do you humans call it? Ah, a break!”

“It’s already too late. I can’t fucking nap now. It’ll make me wake up in the afternoon and we’d lose too much time!” The edge on his voice was sharp and close to breaking. Castiel had to force himself from stirring the hunter’s thoughts into a nicer place and from alleviating his pain and fear.

Instead, he simply calmly exposed the facts that laid on the table, literally, despite the hunter being too strict with himself to notice: “We do not need to research anymore. Look, you have already identified the perfect formula. We can plan the attack tomorrow after you wake up. There is no need for you to torture yourself like this.”  
“What’s gonna keep you from going and just slay the beast while I’m asleep?”

That hurt somehow, the mistrust on his expression. Castiel thought he had proven himself one of the ‘ _good guys’_ , as Dean had pointed earlier. _‘Perhaps his tiredness is clouding his brain and letting the unpleasant emotions reign_ supreme’ he thought to himself, trying to read the situation as well as another of his siblings would have.

 _‘They would never put themselves in my position’_ he realized.  
“Believe it or not, Dean, but I do wish not to harm an innocent, as I had guaranteed you earlier. You do not seem to understand how easy it would be for me to simply complete my mission without you meddling.”  
“Geez, no need to get offended Cas!” the hunter yelled, placing his head on his palm and breathing heavily. “Fine” he then admitted defeat, strutting quickly towards the bathroom the room had and shutting the door behind himself, leaving Castiel behind and unsure of what was expected of him next.

When he emerged back, wearing a pair of different trousers and a different shirt that had a logo printed on. He smirked at Castiel, or he assumed that was the action, for he was not familiar with human facial expression enough to understand the difference between a smirk and a grin. He had always thought that human emotion could not be properly conveyed through facial expression alone, yet he had been corrected in the little time he had spent with the hunter: Dean Winchester wore his emotions out for everyone to see, but rarely spoke of them.

“Well, don’t just stand there and look averagely pretty. Either you can keep on working or watch the tv, it might be way more interesting than stalking me sleep.”

“What would you prefer?” Castiel asked, unsure of what would be acceptable. He had no idea of how to action the electronical device the hunter had pointed at and he was confident that their work had reached his final step, which could wait a couple of hours to be executed.

The hunter blushed bright red and once again Castiel could not detect the emotion behind such action.

“Do whatcha wanna!” he quickly said, getting under the bed covers in one fluid motion and bringing them over his ears, despite the warmth in the room. He called a swift ‘ _goodnight’_ and, just as Castiel had predicted, fell immediately asleep. He must have been incredibly depleted of all energies, after all.

Castiel was then left alone, unsure of what was expected to him and what was customary. He debated waking up his vessel from the slumber state he had put him to protect his human psyche, but choose against the action as soon as he heard the hunter stir in his sleep. He was aware of the lights inside the room still working, and so he closed them, thinking that perhaps that was the cause of his discomfort.

When the hunter did not seem to be placated with the action, Castiel took it upon himself to bring him comfort.

He chose to keep wake, in the human sense, guiding Dean’s thoughts and dreams toward less exhausting places than they currently were, if not because of their current mission, because the hunter deserved a ‘ _good night’s sleep’_ , as the term seemed to be.


	9. Dean

_“… He lifted his hand, the fork raising up in the air alongside the motion. It felt light and heavy at the same time and its warmth radiated everywhere. It swept his bones and filled his soul. And finally, there it was, surrounded by little clouds of steam: the perfect bite. The crust was golden and layered and buttered, crisp yet soft, the perfect balance between the butter and the flour, neither overpowering nor underwhelming the other. It was a piece of art and his heart ached when he ran the knife through its folds, parting it and cutting it into the perfect slice. The raspberry filler escaped to the sides and dripped all over the plate, leaving a vivid red trail behind, a crime scene worth investigating. It had not crumbled when he inserted the fork inside, tearing it apart even further. It had been a cruel action, but the outcome was sure to be so, so sweet. It was now so close, he could taste it in the air. The smell had been divine from afar, and now it was heavenly. He opened his mouth, bringing the fork to his lips as the juicy jam_ _colored_ _them. A few drops fell on his shirt, the sight of them lost inside the dark plaid motif, but he didn’t care. All his life revolved around that single bite, the sorrow and pain gone to the sight of his most loved one. His mouth closed around the cold metal, his tongue sweeping the forbidden fruit, so tasty, that brought him the desperately sought for ecstasy. It was marvellous and his and…”_

The alarm clock began his infernal noise, the constant beeping plunging him away from Morpheus’ hand and bringing him back into the real sad and pie-less world.

Dean jolted awake immediately, grabbing the gun he always had under his pillow and pointing it to his left, as he could feel a pair of eyes watching him.

His father had always insisted he slept armed, in case something happened and he had to protect Sammy. John Winchester would also run drills in the first few months after he had given the order: if Dean didn’t realize he was being watched in his sleep, then he’d die and his brother just right after him, if he had been lucky.

John Winchester never hit him, but he certainly knew how to hurt him.

Thankfully for him, this time, it wasn’t his father staring down the barrel of his gun, a disapproving look on his face as he claimed he had ‘been too slow’. Not so thankfully for him, for his sanity and his faked heterosexuality, Castiel was seated and patiently staring at him, presumably waiting for him to wake, not at all bothered by the gun. The Angel had discarded his trench coat and suit jacket and his hair was more dishevelled than it had been the previous day.

Dean’s brain stopped working entirely. That was way too much for a first thing in a Thursday morning.

“I see you have arisen” Castiel greeted, his deep voice adding to Dean’s distressed state. He flopped back down on the bed, hand and gun hanging to the side, as he closed his eyes and willed his blood to stop moving downwards so quickly.

“I’m not a Kraken” he said, unable to form a more coherent sentence. It was way too early for conversation and he hadn’t even had his first cup of coffee.

Castiel nodded understandably, “I am rather aware of that. If it brings you comfort, you do not even resemble the sea creature.”

It took Dean a couple of heartbeats to fully register the Angel’s words. “Hold on a sec there, buddy” he said, sitting up immediately and widening his eyes, “You mean it actually existed?”

It made sense, now that he thought about it: vampires and werewolves and djinns and ghosts and shapeshifters, they all existed. It was logical that other supernatural entities were real or, at least, had once existed. Dinosaurs were a thing after all, and they were huge!

“Yes, they used to roam free the oceans” Castiel explained calmly, unaware of the internal beliefs shift that was happening inside Dean’s mind, “It is a shame the species is now extinct, they were quite lovely. Nowadays their descents are still remarkable, mind you, but not quite as lethal.” As he talked about them, a shiny gleam passed over the Angel’s eyes. It had possibly been the most human gesture that he had shown since they had met.

“You mean squids are actually downsized Krakens?”  
“Every creature roaming the Earth is a ‘downsized’ version of its ancestors, with the exception of the humans of course. You used to be fishes, are you aware of that?”

It was way too much for his brain to process. There was Castiel, looking like _that_ , close enough that Dean had to simply move to the end of the bed to reach him and…. ‘ _NOPE_!’ his brain fired, ‘ _WE DON’T THINK ABOUT THAT!’_

“Holy fuck” he whispered, both because of the new revelation the Angel had dropped on him and because he was terrified of said Angel figuring him out. He straightened up, rubbing the remaining sleep off his eyes that hadn’t fallen off due to the shock of seeing Castiel in such a dishevelled state. “Listen up, wings: I haven’t had my first cup of coffee yet. Can you please drop those kind of bombs later?” 

He didn’t need the drink to function, unlike his father and the many adults he had met throughout his life, but it surely was a nice morning, or afternoon, judging by the clock signalling already 2pm, routine, especially when dealing with the supernatural. Especially when there was a very attractive man sitting near the edge of his bed that had caused all his blood to rush in the opposite direction he was supposed to go.

Castiel was staring at him expectantly. Dean wasn’t normally certain of his work, but for once he felt confident that things would go well. There was still a little voice in the back of his head that claimed that everything would go to shit, but it was so soft that he almost couldn’t hear it.

“There’s a coffee shop two blocks down. Meet me there in, like, 5?” he said, jumping off the bed and walking towards the bathroom, purposefully avoiding Castiel’s gaze.  
“Are you certain you can reach the location in only 5 seconds? You have just woken up!”  
He stopped dead on his tracks and turned around, trying to decide if he wanted to laugh or scream: “I meant minutes, Cas” he said quietly, running a hand over his face and stretching. He could feel the air over his abs, as his Metallica tee had risen up a little, but he could also feel a pair of eyes over him.

His father had taught him how to see without eyes, using blindfolds and such, but it was with time and experience that he had fully learnt the importance of seeing. He had learnt that people looked at him for all different types of reasons: women did because he was attractive, men did because he was intimidating, enemies to assess him, and so forth. He was now very good at categorizing gazed and stares, yet he couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why Castiel had decided to stare _that_ way.

“You know what? That’s on me for not specifying” he said, lowering his arms and pretending his thoughts were pure and straight. “ One of my old math teachers always commented on how if I didn’t put inches and what not in geometry class it could be apples and pears, so I should’ve known better.”

Unfortunately, his rambling didn’t have the expected effect. Castiel was, once again, tilting his head to the side. That was the last drop. Dean had to be alone with his thoughts for a few seconds to recover, otherwise he’d explode.  
“Please meet me in 10 minutes outside of the shop.”  
“You said 5…”  
“Imma need a few more than that to deal with all of this, you included.”

And with that, nodding understandingly, Castiel grabbed his coat and left Dean alone, zapping out of the room.

*******

He had done it a thousand times by now. Breaking into a monster’s lair, killing the thing and getting out as fast as he could, before everything burned down to the ground for some reason, despite him never lighting anything up.

He was a pro, used to every possible scenario and ready for anything to happen.

But, even if this wasn’t his usual gig and even if his companion wasn’t a freaking Angel, he’d still be nervous. Which was a great thing: fear kept you alive, activated the fight or flight mode, and made sure that one checked three times all the possible exists and how much ammunition he had on oneself. Without it, he’d probably had died way too many times before.

After his abrupt awakening and after he had managed a quick shower to get the image of Castiel waiting for him to wake up out of his mind, he had finally gotten his coffee. Castiel had insisted on having a full meal, stumbling between the words breakfast and lunch due to their current circumstances, because ‘ _the human body does need to replenish the nutrients after a night’s rest’_ , and Dean didn’t have the heart to disagree. After all, he knew what an empty stomach during a hunt could do.

He had discovered it first-hand, when he was fourteen and in a vampire’s nest. He and his father had managed to escape just barely, but afterwards he would always remember the look on his father’s face as he had disrupted his perfectly studied murder plan.

Dean had wondered the entire ride over what his father would say, seeing him get out of Baby with an Angel on his tail, marching into a demon’s hideout to exorcise it. John Winchester would’ve probably told him to stay put and wait in the motel, as he had done many times, cause he’d mess it all up somehow.

He had thought about calling him, when his mind was still clouded and tired; awake Dean had decided otherwise, he didn’t really need the negativity at the moment. He also didn’t want to tell him the truth: he had claimed it was a shapeshifter, after all, which was nothing to worry about. Surely Dean wasn’t so useless that he couldn’t take down a shifter.

Castiel interrupted his train wreck of thoughts. “You can still get to safety” he said quietly, intensely staring at him as if to try to figure something out.

 _‘He doesn’t want you to fuck up his job, Winchester’_ the nasty voice in his head said, coming back at full force after an odd silent time. Dean understood it, but some tiny part of his mind believed that he could be of value. It claimed that he could help Castiel, because the Angel could not perform the exorcism and make sure the human remained alive and as unharmed as possible. Somehow, that small part won.

“Nah, feathers. I’m with you” he said, flashing his most charming smile at the Angel, to at least try to make it seem like he wasn’t terrified of what was waiting for him, “Let’s go and kick some demon’s ass!”

Castiel nodded solemnly and placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder, zapping them inside after checking that the house was empty.

The house was tidy and cosy, and it definitely belonged to a while lady: cushions everywhere, ornamental ones that had no purpose at all other than being cute and aesthetic; self-help books and plants everywhere. Conveniently for them, there was a carpet on the entryway, a circular beige one that was hideous but still somehow managed to blend in with the atmosphere.

Dean moved it aside and kneeled on the floor, beginning his work. He had never done something like that in his entire hunting career.

They had come across a devil’s trap in their research the previous night, around midnight. Dean had almost missed it, in the countless books Castiel had brought, too busy doubting his ability of finding a single helpful thing, when his eyes landed on the not that intricate drawing.

It was rather simple, a circle with some scribbles inside. It would contain a demon in a possessed body until the ring wasn’t broken, but it could do nothing about the cloud of smoke that the demon would become after the exorcism. But that was Castiel’s issue, all Dean had to do was recite some words in Latin and make sure the poor girl wasn’t hurt. He could definitely manage to do it without messing up, right?

 _‘Of course, there is nothing you should worry of_ ’ the kind voice in his mind whispered reassuringly as he almost finished with the weirdly shaped letters inside. It was really weird, for once he felt confident and calm, as calm as one could be minutes away from facing a freaking demon, stuff that was not exactly ordinary even in his usual life.

“She’s coming” Castiel uttered, bringing him out of his mind, just in time for him to scatter away to a corner an disappear in the shadows as well as he could.

Surely enough, the girl he had seen the prior day was there, unlocking the door and shutting it immediately behind her. A powerful smell of rotten eggs permeated the air: during their night of work, Castiel had told him that that was a distinctive trait of the specie, ‘ _sulfuric smell’_ he had claimed it was, and he had said that they also left a yellow powder behind.   
Dean wasn’t _that_ willing to find out if he was lying or not, at least not in a life or death situation, yet here they were.

As soon as she stepped into the foyer, the girl’s eyes became pitch black and she yelled in rage, trying to move her legs but failing: “What the actual fuck?!”

That was Dean’s clue to step in action. Castiel had told him to be quick, that the demon would do anything in her power to make him doubt their situation and to trick him. The Angel said he didn’t want to smite the demon while still inside the body, since they were having that charade to save the girl, but that he would as soon as the situation became too much or if Dean was in danger.

He wanted to retort that his life wasn’t more worthy that some random girls and then, perhaps, he’d be better off slayed, but held off his tongue and agreed that quick and efficient would be the best route.

When he moved out of his hideout, the girl started smiling viciously.

It was terrifying, awful, disturbing. It swept his bones in dread and his hands shook as he held tightly the piece of paper he had written the exorcism on. “I can’t believe my eyes! Dean Winchester, in the flesh!” she said, her high pitched voice piercing through his skin.

“What are you talking about?” he asked as a million questions began to fill his brain, the task at hand forgotten over curiosity. How come she knew who he was? He was a nobody hunter, his father was the one that people recognized. He’d still be no one when he died in a death monster related, most likely in a couple of years, while John Winchester carried on his legacy. Perhaps she knew him in relation to his father, he wondered as she laughed at him.  
“How’s little brother?” she asked, her black eyes seemed to shine as she spoke, despite the lack of light, “You know, one of our Princes has plans for him…” she continued, twisting a strand of her own hair through her fingers as if she had all the time in the world.   
Castiel stepped out of the shadows that concealed him, bringing Dean back to the reality, “Do not listen to her. Finish to read the Formula” he ordered, voice stone cold and impassable. He did as he was told mechanically, too used to that tone to argue. Not that he would ever, argue with an Angel or any authoritative figure anytime soon.

“If this isn’t the dumbass who couldn’t kill me. What would your superiors say, being helped by a hunter?”

Dean began to recite the litany. He didn’t know if it had to be said in a certain way, in iambic metric or in the form of a sonnet, so he decided to stick with the basic: read out loud without giving it a tone, like he used to do in the various schools when he wasn’t passionate about the projects.  
“Listen up, Winchester. Hell’s got plans for dear little Sam and even you… there’s nothing you can do to stop us.” That got his attention: Dean kept on reading, rushing his words to be done with, but his mind wandered to her words. What did she mean? How did she know Sam? “Daddy dearest knows something is up… but he can’t see the whole picture. It’s all setting into motion, Winchester. Perhaps I should tell you…”

He stopped on his tracks. The demon was weakened by the formula and yelled at each word, but managed to utter pieces of sentences that Dean wanted only to forget in between breaths. He stared at her before the last row of words. Demons lie, that much he had always known from every piece of media and literature he had ever read, the lied and manipulated and deceived.   
“Dean” Castiel called, urgency in his voice. He finished the words and stared at the girl as a black mass of smoke emerged from her mouth, the motion so similar to vomiting yet so inhumane.

He had done it, did his first exorcism and managed to remain alive.

Now it was all up to Castiel, who had already raised his hand up and was calling in the smoke to destroy it, a serious expression on his face.

Dean was too busy staring at the strong jawline that he didn’t notice a tendril of black smoke, knocking a vase from somewhere over him, sending it to smack down on his head, until it was too late and everything faded black.


	10. Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for the delay, mental health's been shit and I've had uni exams so. sorry.  
> also please let me know what you think about this pls

_“It is done.”  
“Very well, Castiel. You have made Heaven proud. And in such a short time you have managed to track down a non-corporeal demon. I must say I’m impressed.”  
“Thank you, madame.”_

_“You will comply immediately back into Heaven Headquarters.”  
“In all honesty, madame, I would like to return my vessel in proper conditions and erase his memory. I believe it has been a rather traumatic experience for him.”  
“Very well, Castiel. Your thoughtfulness towards your human is duly noted. I assume you would appreciate keeping him in a proper state in insight of future collaborations with the vessel.”  
“That would be correct, madame.”  
“Alright. I suppose Heaven could do without its best soldier for a couple more hours.”  
“Thank you, madame.”_

_“Ah, and Castiel?”  
“Yes, madame?”  
“Dispose of all traces of the demon quickly.”  
“I beg your pardon?”_

_“Am I correct in assuming she had possessed a vessel when you terminated her?”_

_“That is correct, madame.”  
“Dispose of the body, Castiel. Don’t leave it hanging around like you almost left the previous possessed victim.”_

_“… It will be done discreetly, madame.”_

**_***_ **

Castiel closed his eyes and breathed heavily, letting the situation sink under his vessel and reach his soul.

He had completed his mission with too much delay, despite his superior’s words. He had been selected and sent down because he was one of the most diligent and loyal soldiers Heaven could dispose of, yet when the moment had come he had failed. He had not terminated the demon, which should have been an easy task, and he had let her roam loose, untamed. He had to even enlist a human’s help to track her down and ultimately kill her. And now here he was, lying to his superiors.

It was impossible for an Angel to banish a demon in the Empty without also killing the possessed person, but thankfully for the human girl, the hunter’s plan had worked flawlessly. But Heaven did not need to know that and they clearly did not need to know that he had spared a human life, thus complicating and delaying his mission.

Castiel had never felt more ashamed.

But, at the end of the day, he had finished his job with minimal collateral damage, which was more than a certain number of his siblings could say. He had made a quick work of the first possessed victim, which did not present Angelic wounds and therefore could be easily suspected of being murdered by one of his own species. Heaven was not to concern itself with human justice and it was not his nor any of his siblings problems.

Humans, they all reasoned, killed each other all the time for futile reasons.

Yet it was different when he was the one terminating their life. Possessed or not, that was a life and soul under the skin, and it pained Castiel to no end to wound them, his Father’s precious and beautiful creatures.

Which had been the main reason behind his ally-ship with the hunter: he did not want to spill useless blood.

They had managed to make the possessed girl survive and all Castiel had to do now was wipe her memory and leave, casually omitting the small detail of her being still alive in his report. It would be extremely easy, especially after a particularly complicated mission like the one he just faced.

He would have also removed himself from the hunter’s memory, yet decided against. After all, he had been incredibly helpful and it had not been awful to work alongside of him. It might be useful for someone in his position to know that the dangers of the world expanded from ‘ _regular monsters’_ , however regular a monster could be.

He expected to hear any moment now the hunter’s voice, joking about how ‘ _easy killing a demon was’_ and how _‘he could have easily dealt with it on his own’_. Exasperated already at the possible childish behaviour, he cracked open his eyes and panicked immensely at the sight in front of him.

For there was Dean Winchester, lying limp on the floor with a halo of blood trailing around his head. He looked peaceful in his unconscious state and Castiel rushed at his side, assessing whether or not he was still alive and well.

He exhaled a breath of relief once he heard his heart still beating steadily and his lungs properly work, but remained calm at the detection of a concussion on the hunter’s head. How had he missed it happening went beyond him.

Somehow, despite his ability of healing without touch, he was compelled to rest his hand on the hunter’s forehead, savouring the warmth of his skin under his palm. In a couple of seconds, colour rushed back into his face and all vitals returned to normality.

Opening his piercing green eyes, he moved quickly into a seated position and assessed franticly his own body for injuries. “What happened?” he questioned, scanning the room and landing his gaze on the unconscious woman partially inside the circle.

Castiel had forgotten about her.

“I… we completed the mission, Dean” he quietly explained, rising up on his feet and offering a helping hand to the hunter, who gladly accepted it.  
“Great!” he claimed, only to suddenly switch from a cheery tone to a serious one. “What about her?” he asked, jerking his chin toward the girl with a guarded gaze, as if he believed she might still attack him.

While the demon possessed her, she had made several claims regarding the hunter and his family. But that all must have been a lie, for demons only lied.

Clearing his throat, an action more for the sake of the hunter than his own necessity, he calmly explained, “I will erase this unpleasant situation from her mind, and she will be unharmed.”  
The hunter nodded alongside his words. Perhaps, he too would appreciate the treatment, if roles were switched. “Cool, cool, cool. Now what?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I mean. You’ll be gone now or…” he asked sheepishly, unable to hold Castiel’s gaze as another rush of blood coloured his cheeks.   
“I would return my vessel in proper conditions to his house, if that is what you are asking.”  
“Yeah, no, I get it. I mean. Usually, after a hunt, I go get shitfaced and I just…” he trailed off, flunking his hands around in circular motion, as if Castiel was supposed to continue the conversation on his part.

 _‘He had a symmetrical jaw structure’_ Castiel noted, wondering why he had not managed to retain that particular information earlier. It gave him an older attitude, so at odds with his young age.

“I am not certain I follow your thoughts, Dean’ he admitted after a while, unable to understand the meaning behind the hunter’s words.

“Well, it’s simple, really. It’s almost dark and socially acceptable to start drinking now. Perhaps we can start with food, I’m starving!”  
“Do you want me to come with you and keep you company?”   
“Of course! We just killed a demon, we deserve to celebrate!”  
Castiel couldn’t argue with his logic.


	11. Dean

Three drinks in and Castiel had just begun to relax and loosen up, while Dean himself was more than certain he was in love.

After having cleaned up the mess they had created with the demon, they moved on to a diner close-by. Dean should’ve realized he was whipped the second the Angel had ordered a slice of pie with a passion that might’ve rivalled Dean’s.

 _“I have heard you talk quite vividly about pie so far and I have to admit of being quite curious”_ he had claimed in the softest voice possible, blushing into oblivion, all the while Dean stared dumbfounded. Perhaps it was the lack of processing his brain did at the moment that delayed irrevocably the realization.

He was completely starstruck. He had found his match and wasted no time to confirm his theory.

Usually, he was the one to drink everybody under the table effortlessly, calling shots with someone else’s money while the said someone laid on the sticky floor of a bar, conscious enough to yell back a loud noise of approval, while at the same time so out of it that they couldn’t understand what was happening.

But Castiel seemed to be able to dethrone him. He was still as cool as a breeze, no sign of discomfort or intoxication, except the fact that he was calmer than earlier and that he was quite loose-lipped.

"What about angels?" Dean had asked, finishing his third glass of whisky and ordering another round. He felt the typical warmth alcohol gave, along with a higher innate sense of confidence than usual, but other than that, he was pretty sober as well.

Usually, after three drinks his previous drink-buddies would get all foggy and become way less interesting: his father got morose and sad, his hunter friends that he saw on the road got uncoordinated and messy, even Bobby got glassy-eyed as he talked about his fondest memories. All while he could just begin to feel the calm spread through his veins, his perpetual state of anxiety burning alongside his throat at the liquor.

"We are creatures made of light" Castiel replied in a matter of fact voice, sipping lazily from his own glass.

It had been hilarious, seeing him approach alcohol for the first time. While they ate, Dean had ordered beer and at the sight of the yellowish liquid, the Angel had paled. “ _Are you aware of the resemblance of it and…?”_

He had interrupted the Angel before he could finish the sentence. He had chuckled, remembering how he himself had had asked John Winchester the same thing when he was five years old. He had decided, then, to give the Angel the same reply his old man had used: “ _Yes. Sometimes tastes like it too, but after the first sip you enjoy it.”_

The Angel had then proceeded to do as he was told and had pulled one of the best disgusted faces Dean had ever seen in his life. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from laughing at his companion, and then immediately had scolded himself for the use of the word companion. _‘Who are you, the Doctor?’_

Dean laughed as the bartender approached them with their glasses, eyeing them carefully. He couldn’t blame the poor guy for thinking they were already pretty gone, considering the conversation they’ve been having since their arrival.

It had all started with them ordering a first-round, with him telling the angel that _"There are monsters I just don't get. Vampires, they feed on humans, ghouls too. Werewolf as well, ghosts kill for vengeance and all. But the monsters that kill for the thrill, those I don't get at all."_

 _"You humans kill each other all the time!"_ the Angel had quietly replied, eyeing the dark brown liquid before tentatively drinking, wincing at the taste before going in for a second sip, this time with more enthusiasm.

"So the whole puffy cheeks, naked little babies with small white wings that play the harp on the clouds is made up” Dean had deadpanned, shaking his head as he held close his new glass. He was nowhere near drunk, but he was comfortable and happy and he wondered if that was what normal people felt, whenever they were indeed drunk. The only time he went past his usual limit had been the day he turned 21, far away from his father on a solo hunt and so lonely that he had chased down every bottle he could find. When he had finally managed to wake up, he couldn’t remember a single thing and the empty feeling in his chest was deeper and shallower.

As Castiel replied with a snort and a nice "We are warriors. _'Made-up'_ is an understatement", Dean felt as if that endless pit was somehow smaller, more bearable than it had been the day before.

***

Five drinks were all it took for Castiel to start rambling.

“You do not have durable teeth, nor knees, nor intestines. Your bodies are not made to last. Fish is going to outlive humanity. A cockroach even!”

Coincidently, five drinks in were all it took for Dean to plan on kissing said Angel.

He nodded gravely, “Stinky bugs are everywhere, that’s true. But I don’t believe you!” Dean tried not to think too much about bugs and such, but it was impossible. Almost all of the crappy motels he had lived in had at least a spider infestation and he had woken up many times with something natural crawling up the walls. Monsters were easy to kill, but nothing gave him more pride than being able to throw his shoe at the wall and nail perfectly an insect that had ruined his sleep.

“Wait and see, Dean Winchester” Castiel claimed, finishing his glass and leaning conspiratorially forward in order to whisper straight into Dean’s face: “In four years a cockroach will be the last surviving being on the planet,” he said in all seriousness, with an expression that gave him the creeps. He shivered at that and leaned backwards slowly, because of said creeps and not because the sudden closeness of the Angel’s pretty eyes was making him think about kissing said Angel’s pretty face without caring that they were in a public place.

“You prophet shit now?” he asked too quickly for his own liking, trying to look anywhere but at Castiel, and staring intensely at the liquid in his glass like it might hold all the answers in the universe.

Castiel was relentless, though, and he bumped his shoulder playfully with Dean’s, the body contact sending thrills down his spine as he tried to remain as calm and straight as he could. “No. Just ‘ _pranking_ _you’_ , as you would say” he said, unaware of the effect he was having on Dean with his small gestures.

But he had to go overboard, the fucking Angel. He blinked repeatedly at him, badly attempting to wink and adorably scrunching his nose up as he did so. “I thought this human mannerism would be easier to perform” he admitted defeated, wrinkling his brows with an upset expression.

Dean’s brain stopped completely on its tracks, unable to do anything other than stare at that pretty face and those pretty eyes and the pretty lips and…

 _“Fucking focus, Winchester. Try to be normal for once!_ ” his mind screamed harshly, bringing him back to reality. He was walking a dangerous line, had been since forever. Yet this was new and uncharted territory for anyone.

Yes, Castiel was sarcastic and witty and smart, but he was also an Angel of the Lord and Dean couldn’t decide if his thoughts were gay, blasphemous or both.

Probably both.

Definitely both.

Leave it to him to not be able to choose between two things. That seemed to be a pattern in his life

He cleared his throat, conscious that Castiel was still looking at him and eyeing at him curiously. “A-right! Another round!” he said, way too quickly and panicked to be natural and sober. He was not drunk, not even close, but he could understand easily that he gave off that specific impression.

The bartender had approached them slowly, carefully watching as Castiel seemed lost and was watching intensely the light reflect off the bottles. To Dean, who had just spent two days with the Angel and now knew his mannerism, it was endearing and so incredibly cute, but to a stranger, especially one used to be around drunken people, it was probably a sign that they had taken too far.

“Your friend’s drunk,” the bartender said, taking away their empty glasses and refusing to pour them another, “Maybe’s best if you take him home.”

He was about to reply, coming up with a plausible excuse that wouldn’t have sent them both into a psychiatric ward, when Castiel beat him to it: “My body does not suffer the alterations due to alcohol consumption as a human body would” he deadpanned, completely sober and serious.   
“You see what I mean?” the bartender asked, waving at Castiel with no particular patience. Dean could understand it completely: the poor dude was just looking out for himself and he wasn’t trying to start shit up, actually the opposite. So it was no brainer for him to slid his fake credit card along the bar and get his jacket back on, motioning for Castiel to do the same.  
“Yeah, right. C’mon Cas, let’s head out” he said once the bill was in his hands and once he had left a decent tip to the bartender. He had eyed suspiciously the place constantly during their time there, not even all the alcohol in the world would make him less conscious of his surroundings, and it was clear that there were certain people that would probably cause some trouble after a few drinks. He wouldn’t have wanted to be there when shit did hit the fan, especially with an all-powerful Angel on the loose.

Pushing Castiel quickly out of the door and into the cold air. Dean breathed deeply into the night, savouring the way the chill eased over his skin. It was one of his favorite feelings in the world, the way the cool breeze washed over him whenever he had drunk. It didn’t matter how far along he was, and he never was too far, but there was something reassuring in the wind, calming and nurturing.

He put his hands into his pockets and turned around, smiling at a Castiel who seemed to have just learnt how to walk.

“I am not used to the consumption of alcoholic beverages and I believe neither is my vessel” he answered his knowing smile, chest puffed out in pride as he managed to let himself into an upright position without stumbling too much.

“Oh, trust me, Cas, I believe it too. Look at your cheeks!”

That, apparently, had been the wrong thing to say, because Castiel suddenly turned even redder than before. Dean assumed it was just the cold air or the embarrassment at the situation, of course. What else could it have been?

“Do you want me to fly us to your motel room?” Castiel asked quite harshly, as if annoyed.  
“Nah, Cas. You don’t look like you’ll be able to land properly. Let’s walk.”

***

The crappy motel he was staying at seemed further than Dean remembered. Mainly because he had gotten accustomed to driving everywhere, but also because he wasn’t really that much used to stumbling ‘ _home’_ drunk with an equally drunken Angel, who seemed to have lost the ability to walk, leaning with his full weight on him.

To add fire to the explosion, said Angel had swung an arm around Dean’s waist and was now clinging to him for dear life, heat radiating from the place Castiel’s hand rested cosily on his hip while his hand held tight Dean’s shirt. He had desperately tried not to think too hard about it.

But in the end, they had managed quite successfully the trip. They snuck into his motel’s room without anyone seeing them, giggling like a pair of teenagers. In the dark room, the light from outside reflected on every surface, creating a surreal scene that Dean had seen many times, yet always dismissed. This time, with Castiel’s full bodyweight resting on him, he could do nothing but take the room in, trying to focus on every little detail but the Angel all over him.

The alcohol had reached its peak in Dean, making him bolder and more daring than he normally was, which was a feat on its own, but he was not stupid and reckless yet. Castiel, on the other hand, was a mess: he sat down on the bed, unable to control his limbs, and toppled face up. He seemed to have no quarrel about his tie being loose and tanging with his open trench coat, that flared out and revealed the planes of his body visible through the buttoned-up shit.

“Your dude’s a lightweight, isn’t he?” Dean asked, taking off his jacket and swinging it on a nearby chair, desperately looking at anything other than the Angel on his bed. His mind was less crowded than usual and a certain train of dangerous thoughts was creeping closer and closer to the surface.

Castiel seemed to need a few heartbeats to process his words. He wetted his lips, raising into a comfortable sitting as he tried to untangle his coat from his arms, “Indeed, I do not believe my vessel is used to drinking. He might be experiencing psycho-motorial distress,” he said, raising a worried eyebrow and looking down at his body, examining it with a clinical eye.

“Well, it’s not like we drank like a regular person does!”   
“What do you mean?” Again that fucking head tilt. Sober Dean might’ve been able to ignore it, to pretend like he wasn’t distracted by the way the black mop of hair swung by the side and framed the Angel’s face.

Sober Dean, in full brain capacity and full-on pretending like he was not attracted to every pretty girl _and_ pretty boy in the range of ten miles, might’ve been able to let it go and not linger on it.

But he was not Sober Dean at the moment, and his mouth ran before his brain could catch up. “I mean that we really went to town and also stop tilting your head like that!”  
“I do not understand” Castiel replied, unaware of the effect he had on him, worrying his eyebrows together and giving him a puzzled expression.

 _‘Not going back now!’_ his mind screamed, basically preparing to pack up and go to Hell.

“Well, you see…” he began, mouth suddenly drier than the Nevada Desert, unaware of how in the world he was supposed to tell to an All Mighty Being that he was interested. “Every time you don’t get something you tilt your head to the side in the most adorable way possible and honestly it’s not fair!”

“How is it not fair?”

He was hovering over the bed, basically, each word he inched closer to where Castiel was politely sitting, still cute and confused and rendering Dean’s brain useless. That seemed to be a constant in their brief partnership.

“Cause you’re really pretty, that’s how!” he blurted out, fully knowing that the alcohol in his system was making him more prone to blabbering and keeping his sentence short, trying to avoid being misted on the spot for running his mouth.

He didn’t know if he should’ve cried out in rage or thanked his lucky stars when Castiel calmly replied: “Thank you for the compliment on my vessel, but I fail to see your point.”

“I meant it you as in you. Dude’s hot but you’re pretty inside” Dean admitted before being able to process his own words. Heavy drinking while knowing that he was pretty much head over heels had been definitely a terrible idea.

“I don’t think I’m following properly.”

He took a deep breath, ignoring the nasty voice in his head that screamed at him to get the fuck out of there as quickly as he could cause there was no way the Angel wouldn’t kill him for saying _that_ out loud.

 _“Perhaps Castiel would like to know what you mean. Perhaps he might reciprocate the sentiment?”_ the kind voice that also apparently was in his head said. It was weird, the timing of it all: Dean was used to only have negative thoughts, very terrible ones, yet since he had met Castiel this nice and calming train of thought had come and seemed to have the upper hand.

For once in his life, he went with his gut over his head. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, aware that he wouldn’t be able to say shit if he was still staring at Castiel’s pretty blue eyes, he admitted: “The dude you’re wearing is hot and hella bangable, but you’re also like super pretty and I just wanna kiss ya cause!”

He hadn’t planned on going that far. He definitely should’ve listened to his head, who was now chanting a string of strong curses.

Out of all the possible ways he could’ve died, that must’ve been the stupidest, most irritating, dumbest way to go downstairs. Cause he was pretty sure he wasn’t taking the Stairway to Heaven. At least he could’ve driven down, if ACDC were to be taken seriously, which they should’ve been.

“Oh fuck, OH SHIT!” he yelled, backing away from the Angel to at least try and save himself. Maybe he hadn’t heard his blubbing mouth running, maybe he didn’t understand and that was a good thing.

“Dean…” asked the Angel, whose eyes were squinted as if he was trying to solve a math equation.

_“Wait, why he’s confused? Never mind, not taking chances anymore!”_

“Nothing! Forget I even spoke, I didn’t mean it like that, no way. I’m straight, you know? I like chicks, so much. Boobs, am I right? Yeah I’m straight, nothing fruity going on here!” He knew he was rambling, taking a tangent and losing himself into a maze of words that never seemed to end, but he couldn’t stop himself. Dean could feel the panic rising, free and untamed, and for once he welcomed the feeling. A panic attack would be a quick way to get away from the messes he always managed to create with his stupid bullshit.

“Could you please do me a favour?” Castiel asked, suddenly too close yet comforting. There was no sign of anger on his face, just concern.   
“Woah, Cas. Personal space, know anything about that?” he tried to joke, but the words came out too quickly and too forced.

“Shut up.” That did wonders. Dean didn’t know if he was using his angelic mojo, but he immediately stopped talking and his mind cleared a little.

“Why are you suddenly afraid?”

He switched into defensive mode quicker than he ever had. “I’m not!” he yelled, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a stance, avoiding at all cost to look at the Angel’s face.  
“Yes, you are. Your heart rate went up to 120 beats a minute and you started to talk nonsense about female anatomy. I cannot understand the reason behind such stress.”  
“I…” Dean was at loss for words. How could he even begin to explain? “Forget about it, alright? It’s stupid and it’ll probably get me killed, maybe even by you!”  
“Could you please elaborate? Why would I want to cause you any harm?” Castiel now seemed really worried, more than he had ever been during their partnership. His eyes scanned his face, and Dean betted that he was using his magic to search inside of him.

Sooner or later, willingly or not, the truth would’ve come out. Better to have it his own way, right?  
“Cause I’m not straight, dude! And you’re an Angel and all of us go to Hell, right?” he blurted out, moving his eyes away from the wall in front of them and planting them over Castiel’s. “ _If this is the last thing you see before going, it’s not a bad sight.”  
_ It took the Angel a few moments to process Dean’s words, seconds in which Dean wished he could call Sam and Bobby and maybe even his father, just to say goodbye properly.

“That is a misconception among humans.”  
“What?” Dean asked, unsure if he had heard it truly or if it was just his mind playing tricks with him.  
“In order to be sent to Hell after one’s death, one would have to commit heinous acts and not make amends. There is no universal truth about someone receiving damnation merely because of their preferences.”

Castiel had said it with an expression that could only mean sincerity, with such a raw pain on his tone that it almost knocked Dean over. Not that it would’ve mattered: Dean Winchester had already fallen to the ground, his body curling over his legs as he embraced them, cradling himself as if he was a child.

He tried desperately to blink his eyes, to avoid the tears that were threatening to spill, but his body couldn’t keep it in anymore.

Relief, fear, sadness, happiness. It was a mix that wasn’t supposed to work yet somehow managed to. He had never experienced something more heart-wrenching and heart-warming at the same time. The entire situation felt like one of his usual attacks, yet completely foreign. He was used to the boulder on his back, pushing him down and numbing him to emotions, but this open flood was destroying him from the inside, emptying all the bottled up feelings he had kept down in his entire life.

He hadn’t realized Castiel had moved to sit down on the floor next to him, not until his vision cleared, tears still streaming down his cheeks, and his eyes tried to find him across the room. He moved too silently, that Angel of his.

“Sorry” he whispered, leaning his head on the wall behind him as he willed his heart to beat slower and his head to stop spinning.

“Do not apologize, Dean. You have done nothing wrong.”  
He couldn’t help the mirthless laugh that escaped him. He had spent his entire life thinking and believing he was wrong for just existing, and here he was, getting told off by a literal Angel, a perfect being. “Yeah, I know. Habit of mine,” he said, voice cracking as he closed his eyes, swallowing back sobs.   
“Are you feeling well?”  
He didn’t know even where to begin to explain himself. How could he? His world had shifted on its axis more times in the previous two days than it had in his entire life. “Kinda. I don’t know, I just… I’ve always thought something, that I was wrong and bad. None of the people I work with would understand and I don’t really know, Cas. I never thought I… Since forever I’d known I’d go downstairs, ya know?”  
“May I ask you a question?” Castiel spoke softly, gently, in a tone that Dean had rarely heard directed to him  
“Shoot.”  
“I do not understand how firing a human weapon could work in this situation.”  
“No,” he laughed, this time truly. Castiel would never fail to amuse him. “I meant it as in ‘ _Go on’_.”  
“Would it not have been easier to simply say ‘ _go on’_?” Again the classical head tilt, to which Dean had grown so fond of.  
“What is your question, smartass!” he replied, playfully shoving him out of the way with his shoulder. Instead of returning back into his original position, maintaining personal space with the Angel, he decided to seize the moment and scoot near him, maintaining contact with their shoulders. Castiel didn’t move away and Dean felt his chest lighten up even further.

“Do you think you do not deserve to be saved?”

Dean had always thought the answer to that question was simple: no, he did not deserve to be saved because he was a piece of shit that ruined everything he touched. But now, he couldn’t bring himself to admit it, not really believing it to be the truth. “I don’t know what to think anymore. Up until yesterday, I didn’t think Angels and Demons existed outside of Dan Brown’s books.”

Castiel nodded along to his words, even if Dean suspected he had no idea who Dan Brown was, but at least got a general direction with his use of the word ‘ _book’_.

They maintained a comfortable silence, Dean too preoccupied in his own introspection to keep the conversation going. If it could be considered a conversation and not just a train-wreck on fire going straight towards a broken bridge standing in the middle of a 200 feet fall.

It was Castiel to break their tense silence. “I have heard your prayers before our encounter. Were they incidental?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. It almost felt like a secret, to Dean, like he didn’t really want to say it but at the same time, he couldn’t help himself.  
“Ish. But I don’t know what to tell you, I just… Habit, again, I guess?” Words were never easy for him. Sam, he was the smart one, the one who went to college, who got out of the family business. He was intelligent and quick and everyone loved him.

And Dean? He had always been the opposite, everyone he met would eventually walk away from him and never look back. Castiel was gonna do the same, no exception, because he was an Angel that was wearing a human skinsuit and that would have to go back to Heaven, cause apparently that was a real thing. Dean wasn’t delusional, he knew that a fun couple of days of work together didn’t make them friends.

Plus, he had had to go all the way and declare his affection and his deepest secrets, so that had been fun!

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”  
“Why would you?”

Of course, Castiel wouldn’t have linked what had just happened with a typical human behaviour. To him he was just an ant, wandering around aimlessly with the illusion of free will. Cause, if there were Angels and Demons and Heaven and Hell, there must’ve been also a God, a big man with the plan, with an ineffable plan for the entire world.

“I literally claimed I wanted to kiss you!”  
“Therefore that should make me uncomfortable?”  
“I mean… usually?” he couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped him. He had had a clear go and he was just diving himself deeper into something he didn’t understand. _“Could you be even more stupid, Winchester?”_

“Guys don’t really like when other guys hit on them, unless they are… you know… queer.”

“Are you alluding on you stabbing me when we first met?” The utter seriousness with which Castiel said that was unreal. Dean hadn’t even thought about that, trying to forget that he had made a fool of himself many times in the previous couple of days.

“I am not uncomfortable, Dean. And I do not have a human gender,” he replied calmly, unafflicted by his unease.

Now it was Dean’s turn to be confused: in the entire time they’d known each other, he had assumed that Castiel was a dude, down inside. “WHAT?”

“It is a human construct, we Angels do not have it. We can choose a vessel, but it is not linked down to a specific gender. I personally have taken both males and females vessels.” It was a matter of fact to him and, after the initial shock at the knowledge that he could’ve avoided so much shame and embarrassment if Castiel had chosen a female vessel, he simply nodded along. Who was he to judge, if an Angel wasn’t gonna judge him for who he liked?

Slightly shaking his head, he tilted back once more to fully rest on the wall behind him, eyes closed to savour what he was sure were his last moments with the precious knowledge he had obtained in such short time. He knew he would’ve never walked out of that town with his memories and was desperately trying to get to peace with it.

Once again, it was Castiel to bring him out of his mind, a motif that had occurred so many times recently.  
“I am curious. I have never kissed a human, nor anyone truly. Is it a pleasurable experience?”

“Pleasurable? Hell yeah it is,” and he didn’t know who to blame anymore, his mind clouded by the alcohol or the proximity of the Angel or the fact that he had never felt so calm as he had with Castiel, but in a sudden rush of boldness, he leant forward, seizing the moment, “here let me show you!”

“What should I do…ompf!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel drinking beer for the first time is Brittany Broski drinking Kombucha and that's a fact  
> Also, let me know if you managed to spot the Wall-e reference


	12. Castiel

**_kiss_ **

**_/kɪs/_ **

**_1._ **

**_touch or caress with the lips as a sign of love, sexual desire, or greeting._ **

**_"he kissed him on the lips"_ **

***

Humans classified the act of kissing as an action that could vary based on the meaning behind it.

Many used it to express gratitude or affection, typically placing their lips on someone else’s cheek for no longer than a handful of seconds. Between romantic or sexual partners the act was used to convey desire, lust, and passion. All of that could be called ‘ _love’_ , as the humans did.

He and his siblings did not know of those emotions personally, but after millennia spent watching and guarding humans, Castiel had grown to understand the feelings, at least on an empirical stand-point. He knew what it was supposed to be like.

It was a mother, lovingly tending to a child’s wishes and whims at early age. It was a spouse, coming home from a long day, finding their lover waiting for him. It was a friend supporting another.

To Castiel, humans were fascinating creatures because of their deep understanding of their own emotions. They were free to feel, unlike Angels.

He had thought, many times, whether or not they were the more advanced creation, with their laughs and sorrowful cries and their metaphorical broken hearts.

He and his siblings, they would probably never experience that raw joy, that visceral pain. And so he was content to just watch them being, trying to assimilate as much as he could.

But, nothing in his existence could have prepared him for the gust of energy he would feel the instant the Hunter placed his lips on his vessel’s. He could distinctively feel the warmth of his body, pressed closely to his side as he moved closer, drawn by an invisible force. The air around them seemed to electrify and he was overwhelmed by the urge to close his eyes.

Castiel had absolutely no idea of what he was supposed to do, and so he decided to follow the Hunter’s lead, pushing his mouth slowly against his and savouring the feeling.

It was a wave of warmth, that spread throughout his being, outside of his vessel. It felt calm and exciting at the same time.

Castiel never wanted the emotion to end.

And the Hunter’s lips felt incredibly soft against his vessel’s as he moved one of his hands to cup his vessel’s cheek tenderly. Castiel savoured the way his calloused hand scraped against his stubble. It somehow elicited a profound sound out of him, one that he was not able to refrain or to keep in.

He felt the Hunter’s lips slowly break out in a grin as he decided to move his hands, placing them on Dean’s shoulder for better leverage. He slightly grabbed the fabric of his shirt, instinctively drawing the body closer. Somewhere in him, a tiny voice was screaming at him to get as close as possible.

It was all instinct afterwards: the way he let his mouth open, allowing for the Hunter’s tongue to sweep in; his own hands, unable to stop roaming his forearms and shoulders, that made their way to his back, enjoying the way the muscles rippled under his touch; the way his head was quiet, Angel Radio silent for the first time.

They moved in tandem, exchanging breaths and small gasps. Somehow, his loosened tie was taken off his neck, his trench coat long forgotten on the floor next to them, alongside the Hunter’s jacket. They lost each other in the fluid motion of entwining, arms wrapping around Castiel’s neck to bring him closer, fingers digging in his hair as he was unable to process his own actions and sounds.

It was timeless and time-consuming, all at the same instant.

He understood now, why humans enjoyed this activity so much. It probably had something to do with the rush of hormones that were released in the bloodstream, yet the act itself was intoxicating, elating.

If this was Falling, he could not blame his former siblings, he thought treacherously, horrified by his own mind. Yet he never wished for this to stop.

But, like everything, their moment had a beginning and an end. End that now had to come, just as the Hunter removed his mouth from Castiel’s jaw, pacing a tentative kiss there but breaking the contact with his skin, allowing himself to regain his breathing.

Castiel himself felt breathless, even though as an Angel he was not accustomed to the act of respiration. He could survive without it, his vessel would not be affected as long as he was using it, yet Castiel cherished, even enjoyed, the way his lungs burned as he was kissing the Hunter.

He told the Hunter so, as he moved to rest his forehead against Castiel’s shoulder.

That elicited a quiet laugh from the Hunter, who simply shook his head as his arms tightened around Castiel. He had not realized that they must have moved during their kiss, for now, they were both tangled in each other’s limbs on the floor. It should have been uncomfortable, yet it was coincidentally the most relaxed Castiel had felt. And he knew that the Hunter mirrored his sentiment by the way his shoulders had lost all their tension from earlier.

He moved his head to better see the man wrapped so tightly around his middle. The dim light from the outside of the room did not do him justice. His hair had been roughed, messed up by Castiel’s own fingers, and so he moved them without even realizing the action, fixing them with gentleness. His mouth was stretched in a tiny content smile, lips reddened, his nose scrunched up in an imperceptible way as it nuzzled against Castiel’s neck. His eyes, so green and so profound, were closed as his breathing evened out.

Castiel could have easily chosen to remain in that position for the rest of eternity, he realized without an ounce of regret. But that would not be fair to the Hunter, who had his human life to live to the fullest of extents.

He quietly shook him, conscious that he was not asleep yet, but trying not to startle him. Perhaps the alcohol had finally taken hold of him, he thought as he saw him move instantly, his cheeks heating up, visible even in the semi-darkness.

“I am afraid I overstayed my leave…” he said, unable to formulate a thought that did not include the use of the human word ‘ _adorable’._

He saw Dean’s face crumble: one moment he was sleepily smiling at him, a calm expression written in his eyes as he took the image of Castiel sprawled down under him; in the next, his face shifted in a defensive scowl, eyes hardening as he hastily removed himself from their tangle of limbs.

“Yeah… no, right,” he stumbled over the words, as if they did not wish to leave his brain.

“Are you feeling well? The alcohol we both consumed was above the normal human tolerance.”  
He scoffed at that, straightening his shirt and running a hand through his hair, undoing all of Castiel’s patient work from earlier. He felt the creation of a tight spot in his vessel’s abdominal muscles and stomach, an unpleasant feeling that bothered him. “I’m a seasoned drinker Cas. Don’t worry, you didn’t take advantage of a drunk person. I’ll be fine” he added, faster than Castiel expected, refusing to meet his eyes. It almost felt like a rehearsed speech, but Castiel did not want to think about those implications.

He could feel the tension in the room rise once again. He did not understand. Usually, humans, especially after sharing an intimate moment, would not prepare to fight each other, would not stand on a defensive ground, would not refuse to acknowledge each other.  
“Are you certain you are alright?” he asked softly, moving to take one of Dean’s hands in his, to make a comforting gesture he had seen many times from above.  
“This is the moment you delete my memories, right?”  
He was taken aback by that. “Why would I?” he asked, worry replacing the quiet happiness from his body. Did he misread the situation?

“I don’t know? Orders from above? Cause the case is over and you don’t need me to remember shit anymore?” the Hunter fired back, removing violently his hand and crossing his arms at his chest. Long gone was the man that had kissed him so sweetly, Castiel realized bitterly, as he was swept over by fear and nervousness once more.  
Castiel smiled fondly at him, moving his hands to cup Dean’s face as he made their eyes meet. He ignored the imperceptible flinch the Hunter’s shoulders did, focusing on bringing his face down at his and placing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. He could immediately feel the muscles relax under his touch as he leaned his forehead against Dean’s, meant as a reassuring gesture.

“You can keep your memories. I would prefer it,” he whispered softly, eyes closed as he basked in the Hunter’s warmth.  
“Why?”  
“This way, the next time I am assigned a mission in the area I will not have to introduce myself again. I did particularly enjoy working with you, Dean. You are an extraordinary hunter.”  
The Hunter laughed at that: “Why do I feel like there’s more?” he asked, bringing his own arms to encircle Castiel’s neck.  
“Very insightful. Yes, indeed. I have also greatly enjoyed the kiss.”  
“Are you saying you’d like to do this again sometime and go on an actual date with me?!”  
“I believe I am, if that is the appropriate custom. Would that be agreeable with you?”  
There was no mistaking Dean’s smile. His lips stretched widely, he became luminous. He was a beautiful sight, and Castiel desperately wanted to be able to witness it for eternity. “Very much,” he replied, closing once again the gap between them by bringing their lips together.

The kiss overall was quicker and less passionate than their first one, but no less meaningful. It made Castiel never want to leave.

But he had to.

“Well, then,” he said, removing almost painfully from their tight embrace, “If you need me, you can pray to me and I will be able to hear you.” Not many prayed directly to him anymore, humans choosing to take a direct and bold route that lead to an empty chair nowadays. But Castiel doubted he could miss the Hunter’s voice ringing in his ears if it did happen.

There was no mistaking the mischievous smile that took hold of the Hunter’s face: “Let me guess. I’ll pray instead of calling, right?” he asked, slowly moving his lips on Castiel’s neck, gently scraping his teeth on his flesh.

His mind was momentarily occupied, choosing to focus entirely on that feeling instead of replying, but he eventually did. “That would be correct. Or you could send a letter.” Castiel did not know much about letters, but he had always been fascinated by the Postal Service. It would not be a bad thing to get accustomed to it, he reasoned.  
“Neat, what’s your address on Earth?”  
“I don’t have one, what for?”

The laugh that came out of the Hunter was bright and contagious, a beacon of light in the dim-lit room. “Never you mind, my Angel!” he exclaimed, taking one of Castiel’s hands in his and placing an old fashioned kiss to the back of it. Somehow, that action took his breathing away as much as their previous kissing, “I’ll pray to you instead.” There was no mistake in the darkening of the Hunter’s eyes, in the way they never left Castiel’s now.

So at odds with their previous fear.

“Next time we meet, I’ll try to make a greater entrance,” he claimed, taking a step back to avoid the temptation to stay, “Just, please try to avoid stabbing me on our next encounter, Dean.”

“Can’t make those kinds of promises”

“Is that supposed to be an innuendo?”

He was gifted with another one of Dean’s blinding smiles. “You betcha!” he claimed, laughing softly.

Castiel felt the peace and the warmth their encounter had brought him throughout his journey back to Heaven, already contemplating when he could go again back to Earth, simply for the pure joy of visiting.

He could still feel the press of the Hunter’s soft lips against him as he walked back into Heaven, his steps lighter than they had been in a millennium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand, one more chapter and we're done! LMK what you think!


	13. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never mentioned a happy ending, did I now?

The first thought Dean had as he woke up, was to acknowledge the lack of a headache. It had become a routine, the morning after a job well done, or at least as well as Dean could’ve done it, to welcome the new day with his head practically throbbing from the previous night’s drinking. Somehow, this time, there was no such thing.

He smiled at the feeling, slowly shaking his head to test his theory. Of course Castiel wouldn’t leave him to be completely hungover.

He rolled over on the bed, laying on his stomach and pushing his head against the pillow to suppress the grin that spread on his face as the memories of the previous night crashed down at him. He was not a teenager with a crush, for fuck’s sake! Why was he suddenly acting like one?

But he couldn’t help himself as he kept on smiling, the feeling of Castiel’s lips on his still lingering.

Dean knew he would not be able to tell anyone, especially not John Winchester, the truth about what had happened, and he knew that he would have to quickly think of a plan to deal with it. He could kill countless monsters, terminate ghosts and now he could add to his resumé “ _helped an Angel deal with a Demon”,_ although he wasn’t sure he was supposed to shout it from the rooftops and although he did not have a resumé to write it on, but having to lie to his father would always be the hardest thing he could do.

John Winchester could smell bullshit from a mile away and Dean had to be careful, more than usual.

But he couldn’t think about that, not yet. Instead, he let himself close his eyes, thinking back to the way Castiel had smiled at him. He rolled off the bed like that, with a stupid sappy smile on his face. His jacket laid forgotten on the floor in the same way it had been tossed the night before and he couldn’t help himself from leaving it there, just to remind himself that it had indeed happened.

It was stark, the contrast with the missing tan trench coat, but it made his heart swell nevertheless.

Usually, whenever he had to leave a place, Dean didn’t feel anything. He had no roots, no attachment anywhere. The only constant was his Baby, sometimes his father was in the picture, but since Sammy had left for Stanford, he was utterly alone. Dean tried to not let it affect him, tried to avoid thinking about what life might’ve been if only one thing in his life worked out, but he never lingered on the empty feelings at the bottom of his stomach, moving on as quickly as he could.

But now, for the first time since he was young, he felt a pang of sadness cling to the idea of moving on. Would Castiel know where to find him, when he was constantly on the move from town to town?

Yet, he had sounded so earnest, so _happy_ , when he told Dean that they would meet again, that he should just pray to him and he’d be listening. Dean didn’t exactly understand how the gears of that would work, but he figured he would have time to overthink it to no ends, in his usual fashion. He sadly smiled at that, grateful to still have his memories.

How nice would it be to actually live his fantasies and his desires? How lucky would he have to be, to make this work? How stupid would he have to be, to actually believe all that might come true?

 _“What could a beautiful being like Castiel, a literal thing of perfection, want from such a mess like you?_ ” his head screamed, bringing him back to the real world. He was nothing but an ant, a useless hunter who sucked at his job, a screwed-up mess.

He couldn’t say he missed his internal negativity, but he had gotten used to the lack of frequency his thoughts turned grimly in the short time he had spent with the Angel. It was nice, having a reprise, even for a couple of days. But now that his bubble of happiness had exploded, his mind was back in full force, pushing him into reality.   
Dean almost expected the nice voice that seemed to have taken hold of some of his thought to make an appearance, to remind him that Castiel had said he’d be back because he liked Dean, because Dean was nice, because his work was well thought or some other bullshit along those lines, but he wasn’t stupid, no matter how many people told him otherwise. He knew it was all a rouse, or maybe a way to hook up, or anything convenient.

Castiel had needed help and it was easier to get it through flattery, he was one of the good guys after all. There had had to be no truth behind Castiel’s words, right?

“ _Right_.”

“ _It could’ve been worse,_ ” he thought bitterly. Indeed, he still had a couple of memories and some wishful thinking, if nothing came out of it, which Dean suspected it wouldn’t. He should’ve been glad it happened like this, he should thank his lucky stars that he was still alive, even if it hurt.

But nothing good came from stalling in emotions, Dean had learnt it the hard way. Instead of mussing, he decided to deal with the situation the same way he would’ve done normally: clean up, pack up and skip town.

Pretty easy, right?

He picked his jacket up hastily, tossing it into the unmade bed and moving with autopilot to gather his evidence, all the traces of the work they’d done in tandem. He would usually keep it, dropping it in the storage unit he had bought for this purpose. It was all pretty important stuff anyway: it wasn’t like every day he would have an actual Angel explain the complexities of Heaven and Hell in detail.

He removed his word from where it was pinned on the wall, letting the pins fall on the carpet, uncaring if they could potentially harm his bare feet as he walked around the room to pack everything up. Maybe, the pain could’ve brought him back to Earth, grounding him like it always did.

Dean was done quicker than he had realized, sometimes it still baffled him how little belongings he had.   
He could not remember a time when he owned more than he could carry with himself, different than Sammy, who filled the trunk of Baby with toys and clothes whenever they skipped town. It was a fond memory for Dean, but it still gave him pain in his chest, another memory that twisted itself in his mind like a sharp knife.

But memories were there to be buried and forgotten, maybe to raise up at the end of bottles after some morose drinking, but he was a hunter and he could not live in the past. He had to move, quickly.

Dean knew that Castiel would become just like Sammy, a painful memory that reminded him that he was far better off alone and that the people around him were better far from him, where he couldn’t hurt them with his messes.

He shot a quick text to his father, telling him that he was ready to jump into the next job. He knew that John Winchester would grill him for taking so long and would want to know everything that had happened, if only to tell Dean how many mistakes he had done. He would have to skim over some details, completely avoiding any mention of Castiel’s vessel, but he could do it.

Even if this situation would never happen again, it was still something to draw strength from. And what if he believed that Castiel had been lying or at least overexaggerating with his comments: those words had been said and had etched themselves in Dean’s mind, for better or for worse.

Grabbing his backpack and his jacket, he scanned the room one last time. There was a choice somewhere down the road, a nasty little whisper that made its way into his mind as he spent time with the Angel. “ _What if you gave up the fight, settled down, and stopped hunting?”_

It had been a dream of his, especially since Sammy had left to try and do just that. And it seemed possible around Castiel. But in the real world dreams were nothing.

Sighing, he closed the door on his back, leaving those faithful days behind. At least he still had his memory intact. And who knew, why this new knowledge, maybe his father could actually be proud.

Dean was so lost in his own mind, constructing a plan to tell John Winchester what had kept him occupied in the least dangerous way, that he did not realise there was a woman next to Baby. Middle-aged redhead, with her hair wrapped tightly in a bun and a grey suit, she looked at him with disdain in her eyes, as if he was nothing more than a piece of dirt in her way.

He immediately tensed. Too many weird things regarding the supernatural had happened in too short of a time for this to be unrelated.

Holding tighter his backpack, he made purposeful strokes and kept his head held up high. He was Dean Winchester, hunter and slayer, and he had just aided an Angel in the destruction of a Demon. He could face whatever.

"Dean Winchester?" she simply asked as he approached, not moving an inch from his Baby. He stopped dead in his tracks. The only person he’d told his real name to was Castiel, and he didn’t like the implication of this woman knowing it.

"Yes, I did find your name though him,” she simply said, as if it was a matter of fact. She didn’t seem to have weapons on herself, but if his gut was to be believed that didn’t make her any less dangerous. As if able to listen to his mind, which her cold smile seemed to confirm, she just kept going on her own, without needing Dean to answer.

“Quite an unfortunate situation, I must say. His mission was almost compromised by. But, in the end, _we_ good people triumphed.” She had moved now, slowly walking towards him as an invisible force kept him rooted on the spot. “Mr Winchester, I cannot let you keep this specific set of memory. I will have to replace the whole week with something far more normal for your life.”

She seemed to be thinking about it, examining his face as if he was a lab experiment that had failed. He supposed that that wasn’t far from the truth.

“Perhaps a ghost that targeted a specific set of people, rather near to your _preferences_. That should keep you wary for a while, do you agree?”

She was now face to face with him, her eyes seemed to pierce into his soul in a very non-pleasant way. “Perhaps, like this, next time you see Castiel and he sees you, you will not know each other and you’ll refrain from stepping all over our plans.”

“What have you done to Cas?” he demanded, a sudden panic taking hold of him at the knowledge that they might’ve hurt him. He knew it was a bad idea to stick around the Angel and now he had fucked up. Dean knew this would happen and he chose to ignore the voices that whispered to him to refrain, to ignore, to forget.

“We have reprogrammed him,” she said, practically, as if this was only another check on her every day to-do list. “Nothing for you to worry about. Hopefully, this will not need to happen ever again, for your next encounter will be under Heaven’s watch. I truly hope you will not be seeing you ever again, Mr Winchester.”

He closed his eyes, unable to keep on looking at her. This seemed to settle it then: he had no agency, he didn’t even need to think about a convincing lie for his father, since one had been placed on him from high above. A tear made his way down his cheek as he felt the invisible force release him.

His last thought, before he completely forgot everything, was the memory of Castiel’s lips pressed on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SORRY

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Come and find me on Tumblr @drjackandmissjo  
> PLEASE, spare a comment!!!! Let me know what you thought about this!  
> Criticism is highly appreciated!  
> Till next time, Jo


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